


Destiel Promptober 2018

by Castielslostwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Allusions that the entire republican party might be an alien race trying to invade Earth, Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altered Reality, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angels Are Watching Over You, Anti-Donald Trump, Arranged Marriage, Atlantic City Boardwalk, Battle of Hogwarts, Because of the torture, Blacksmith Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Bootlegger Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Endverse Dean Winchester, Boys Kissing, Brothels, Businessman Castiel, Butt Plugs, Camp Chitaqua, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain Dean Winchester, Car Sex, Case Fic, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel in Drag, Castiel in the Tardis, Cinderella Elements, Closeted Dean Winchester, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Comfort/Angst, Complete, Consequences of not using your words, Creature Castiel, Creature Fic, Cursed Castiel, Dark Dean and Castiel, Dark fic, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Man, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Demon Castiel, Destiel Promptober, Dildos, Emotionally Constipated Dean Winchester, End of the World, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Episode: s05e04 The End, Explicit Sexual Content, FBI Agent Castiel, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, Ficlet Collection, Ficlets, First Meetings, First Time, First Times, Friends to Lovers, Gardener Castiel, Getting Together, Good Parent Mary Winchester, Gryffindor Dean Winchester, Halloween, Hand Jobs, Hufflepuff Castiel, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Imprisonment, Infidelity Outside of Castiel/Dean Winchester, Kinda Cracky but Super Cute, Last Day On Earth, Lonely Castiel, Lonely Doctor Dean, Lucifer Possessing Sam Winchester, M/M, Magic, Manhandling, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Masturbation, Meddling Sam Winchester, Meet-Cute, Memory Alteration, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Mentions of human trafficking/noncon, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Mind Manipulation, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Misuse of workplace lube, Molly Clubs, Moon Castiel (Supernatural), Moon God Castiel, Mutual Pining, Mythology - Freeform, New Orleans, Nuclear Warfare, Oblivious Dean Winchester, Ocean Sex, Omega Castiel, Paramedic Dean Winchester, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pimp Crowley (Supernatural), Pining, Pirate Castiel, Political References, Pool Sex, Popcorn, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Slash, Prince Castiel, Prince Dean Winchester, Professor Castiel, Professor Dean Winchester, Prohibition, Promptober, Prostitute Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Ret-Con of Canon, Ret-con to canon, Rimming, Roadtrips, Rock Star Dean Winchester, Roleplay, Ruler of Hell Dean Winchester, Sad Kissing, Sam Winchester Saves The Day, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Scent Kink, Scenting, Schmoop, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Smart Sam Winchester, Socially Awkward Castiel (Supernatural), Soul Marks (tattoos), Spells & Enchantments, Spoilers for Harry Potter, Starring the Impala as the Tardis, Sweet Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sweet Dean Winchester, Swimming Boys, The Royal Navy, Time Lord Dean Winchester, Top Castiel, Top Dean Smith, Top Endverse Castiel, Torture, Trapped In A Closet, True Mates, Undercover as a Couple, Unsafe Sex, Victorian England, Virgin Castiel, Virtual Reality, Wedding Fluff, Weird First Dates for Supernatural Beings, Wing Kink, Wizard Castiel, Wizard Dean Winchester, Workplace Relationship, Workplace Sex, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, ambiguous canon vs AU setting, ambulance sex, dub-con i guess, implied - Freeform, magical girl, movie theaters, paramedic Castiel, pornstar castiel, references to canon character deaths - harry potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:38:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 40,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielslostwings/pseuds/Castielslostwings
Summary: A collection of ficlets and drabbles for the Destiel Promptober 2018 challenge via my lovely NaNoWriMo group.Chapters will be individually tagged with warnings, INCLUDING archive warnings; heed the tags.No common threads between ficlets unless noted as such.Ratings vary from G-E, there will definitely be smut but not every chapter will have it.Chapters will be tagged with ratings individually.





	1. COFFEE SHOP

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT FILL: COFFEE SHOP  
> WARNINGS: MCD  
> RATING: G

 "Coffee for Cas"

 

Coffee is what Dean would consider the great equalizer. Most everyone (not insane) likes it, it makes people feel good, gives them something safe to crave, to savor, to bond with other humans over. It’s a conversation starter and a safety net for when conversation runs dry. Coffee is consistent. It’s outlasted the rise and fall of entire nations, civilizations, the industrial revolution, even the Kardashians. Not that Dean knows anything about them, except that he’s definitely always been a Khloe girl. What was he saying? Right. Coffee’s always there for us, and it’s always been there for Dean.

His hands aren’t what they used to be; arthritic and a little shaky, not the calloused and strong hands of a working man he had in his 40’s, that’s for sure. They fumble his keys a little as he slides them into the lock for the last time. When he’s done, he checks the handle like he always does, and steps back to look at the coffee shop that’s been like home for the last… he can’t remember the exact number of years at this point, his memory isn’t what it used to be. But it’s been a long time. He looks up and surveys the logo, it’s faded but still beautifully crafted, exactly what he envisioned when they bought the building all those years ago.

As he stands there in the fading dusk, looking through the wide glass storefront and into the darkened space beyond, his memories come alive. He sees himself and Cas, excited and young and so nervous about such a big investment, kissing happily in the empty space, Cas picking him up and carrying him off to the back office where they could make love in private. He sees Sam, Eileen, himself and Cas getting into a huge paint-throwing fight while decorating and deciding to leave the splatters on the wood floors because Cas insisted it gave the place “character.” He sees himself at the register and Cas walking around refilling mugs, offering people _books_ , because that’s what Cas did. He sees Cas’ organic homemade honey display go up next to the register, and the way Cas’ face lit up when Dean surprised him with it.  He sees the shop on New Year’s Eve, still decorated for Christmas, closed for the night but the lights still twinkling, Dean down on one knee and Cas not even letting him make it through the question before he tackles him to the ground. He sees their two sweet kids at age five and seven, playing with their cousins, the adults sprawled in the shop’s comfy chairs and tipping spirits into their half-full mugs on Dean’s birthday. He sees the shop transform over the years; new paint, new bar, new registers, upgraded furniture, different menu boards, countless part-time employees, but through it all there’s him, and Cas, and coffee.

And now he sees the store dark and empty, the way it is today, all of those memories somehow still inside and yet long, long gone.  

Dean pulls out his phone and steps back into the street, unsteady as he navigates the small curb. It takes him a minute to find the camera and open it, damn phones get more complicated every year. He’d still have an ultra basic model from the stone age if his kids hadn’t intervened and he’s less than grateful for their “help”. But there’s a picture of him and Castiel from a week ago set as his background, and he’ll have to thank them for that later. Dean smiles down at it even as he squints to see their features, and marvels how Cas never really seemed to age. A couple gray hairs at his temples and a few more laugh lines, but those blue eyes don’t look a day older than the one they met on, and the body Dean knows as well as his own will never not be perfectly beautiful to him. When the camera is ready, Dean raises it and tries his best to get the entirety of the shopfront into the frame. He curses when his hands falter as he struggles to both aim and press the shutter. After a couple failed attempts, he finally manages to snap what he thinks is a decent picture - except that a young couple strides into view at the last second, ruining his shot. “Shit,” he yells in frustration, and his eyes well up involuntarily. He covers them with his hand and takes a second to compose himself. When he opens them again, the couple is standing there arm-in-arm and facing him, contrite.

“Sir,” the girl starts, “We are so sorry, we didn’t see…”

Dean waves her off and gestures at his phone angrily. “S’not your fault… this damn thing. Shouldn’t be so hard just to take a damn picture.”

The couple exchanges a glance and the man steps forward with his hand out. “I’d be happy to take one for you,” he offers kindly, but sees Dean glaring and adds, “Wouldn’t you rather be in it anyway?” Dean’s face softens at that, and he looks from his phone to the couple, to the shop.

“Yea… I guess that’d be alright.” He hands over the phone and stands in front of the big glass window, hands in his pockets. The man stands far back in the street and snaps a couple of pictures, handing the phone back to Dean who accepts it with a gruff, “Thanks.” The couple wishes him a good night and takes off down the street wrapped around each other again. Dean can’t help but watch them go, even if it makes his heart ache.

On the way home, he stops at a Target, where another young person has to help him work the photo kiosk but eventually, he leaves with a print of the photo he had taken tonight. He wishes Cas were with him, he was always better at these type of things. He squeezes the steering wheel and focuses on the road.

 

***

Later that night when Dean eases himself down into the bed he shared with Cas for over four decades, he slides his hand into the empty space next to him, letting it drift over the soft, cool sheets before coming to rest on the indent in the second pillow. On the nightstand next to him are two pictures. The one from today with Dean alone in front of the shop, looking so much older than he feels, and the second, a framed picture taken the first day they owned it, him and Cas with their arms around each other, big smiles and eyes full of love for nothing but each other. No matter how old Dean gets or how much of his memory he loses, he’ll never forget the look on Castiel’s face when they pulled up in front of the shop in his old ‘67 Chevy Impala and Cas saw their sign for the first time. Dean had kept it a secret, and the payoff was well worth it. “Coffee for Cas,” was fitting, the entire situation an expression of everything Dean had wanted to say to Cas, but found himself unable to express in words up to that point in time. _I’ll give you anything, you are my everything._ Dean thinks of Castiel’s face in that moment as he wishes for sleep now, half of him delighting in the memory, the other half cursing Castiel for leaving him here alone.

“You always said that when everyone else was gone, you’d still be here with me,” he whispers into the dark, and no one whispers back. He closes his eyes and lets himself be carried away.

 

***

When he wakes, the first thing he notices is that he’s lacking all the aches and pains he’d grown so used to. It’s a bizarre feeling, suddenly being free of a burden you’d forgotten you were carrying. The second thing he notices is that he’s sitting up, in a chair, inside his shop. He looks around and the space is decorated the way he remembers it from maybe thirty years ago, with string lights all around the ceiling, pine garlands everywhere and the smell of cinnamon mixing with coffee in the air. The original “Coffee for Cas” sign hangs overhead. Confused, Dean stands, and his feet are steady, his hands on the table are strong and the skin over them is tight and healthy. He pinches himself, wondering if this is a dream and almost not daring to hope that it isn’t. “Hello,” he calls out, “Anyone… here?” He waits a minute but there’s no answer, no one to be seen, and he’s just about to try and walk out into the street to see if he can find out what the hell is going on when a noise from behind makes him whirl around.

Dean almost falls to his knees in both relief and the sustained fear that he’s dreaming, but instead, he barrel rushes the vision before him. Castiel looks just like he did in the picture in Dean’s mind as he fell asleep, his smile wide and his eyes sparkling, and when Dean takes him in his arms he feels warm and real and just as he remembers.  Dean's arms tighten around him. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, voice heavy with affection. “I kept a cup warm for you.”


	2. CHILDREN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: CHILDREN  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: TEEN (mild mention of underage prostitution)  
> SUMMARY: Castiel has always watched over Dean.
> 
> NOTES: I don't really like writing kid!fics, so this is probably not what the prompt intended, but here we are.

“I’ll Watch Over You”

 

Castiel likes to think he’s always tried to be honest with Dean. Well, not  _ always,  _ perhaps… there was that unfortunate business with Crowley. And Naomi. And that time he “borrowed” the Colt… Okay, he knows he hasn’t been perfect. But he wants to be. He wants more than anything to tell Dean the biggest secret he’s been keeping from him, something that was never an intentional deception but instead, crept up and grew inside of him like a vine, twisting into every fiber of his being until he couldn’t remember a time or a way that he wasn’t inextricably in love with Dean Winchester. But there’s one problem. That’s not the only secret about Dean Castiel has been keeping. And if Dean knew about  _ this _ … after all these years? He might never want to see him again,  _ ever _ , forget even being able to consider returning his affections. 

As all the biggest secrets do, the roots of it began growing and took hold before Castiel even realized what they were, and by the time he did, it was way too late to come clean. 

At some point in the year before Dean Winchester was born on January 24, 1979, the Seraph Castiel was given an assignment of the highest order. By all accounts it had been handed down from the top of the command structure Himself, not that Castiel had any way of verifying that (nor would he have even thought to question it at the time). Watch over and protect the Righteous Man, who would be born to John and Mary Winchester, as his destiny was to be the Michael Sword, and defeat the Morningstar in the upcoming Apocalypse. Castiel had been nervous and unsure of what his role might be in this human’s life at the time. Though he knew it had happened, a charge like this was rare, with few angels ever receiving such a task, and the ones that had kept it close to the vest to prevent interference. As such, the only situation Castiel was sure shared similarities with his was Gabriel and the baby Jesus, and Gabriel had been missing for centuries.  

Gabriel was clever, but Castiel was determined and this was important, so with a little effort and a lot of bribery, he had been able to sniff Gabriel out. Unfortunately, the archangel was wholly uninterested and ended up being far less than helpful. He had basically shrugged and said, ‘You know, don’t let him eat laundry detergent or get hit by a bus or whatever.” Gabriel then wiped Castiel’s memory of how to find him and promptly disappeared again. Castiel had to read between the lines and decide for himself that while he was not to interfere with the human’s life path or free will, he should play the protector. Ironically, he felt the cliche role of “guardian angel” that humans tend to immediately think of when the topic of angels comes up was most fitting. A vigilant soldier who viewed the charge as an important job, but did not get attached. 

Except all of that was blown away the first time Castiel laid eyes on the Righteous Man. His soul was so bright, so pure, the most beautiful thing Castiel had seen since his creation. Castiel stood invisibly in Mary Winchester’s hospital room, watched her smile blissfully and snuggle the little Righteous Man, and listened to her christen her new son, “Dean.” 

“Dean,” Castiel had breathed to himself. 

Eventually, Mary had placed the swaddled baby in the bassinet next to her bed and, exhausted from childbirth, fallen asleep almost immediately. John had done the same in a chair beside her bed. Almost as soon as Mary’s eyes closed, the baby began to fuss quietly. Castiel’s eyes widened and he waited anxiously for Mary to wake up and comfort the little boy. As the minutes passed and she didn’t wake, the baby grew more and more upset. Castiel made his way over to Mary’s bedside, intending to wake her, but as he stood over the bassinet, a strange thing happened. The baby’s eyes opened, and he seemed to look right at Castiel. If Castiel hadn’t known better, he would have said the human’s soul seemed to sense and take comfort in his presence. Hesitantly, he had reached out with one invisible finger and touched the tiny hand poking out of the hospital blanket, and the hand had tightened immediately. Awed, Castiel had leaned in, making himself visible only to the tiny miracle already literally wrapped around his finger and said, “Hello, Dean.” Dean had cooed and dropped off to sleep shortly after, never letting go of Castiel’s finger. Though he was still far too much the good soldier at the time to fully appreciate it, many years later after being scolded for standing in Dean’s “personal space”, he would think of this moment, and so many to come that were similar to it. How, before Dean’s life had damaged him, he had no trouble accepting Castiel’s care and affection - even if Castiel didn’t know what he was providing at the time. 

From then on, Castiel watched over Dean. When Dean was very small, he seemed to be able to see Castiel whether he was invisible or not. Mary would catch Dean seemingly babbling at air and would tell him that angels must be watching over him, having no idea how on the nose she really was. When Dean was around four years old, just after Sam was born, he stopped being able to see Castiel and even back then, Castiel had felt a pang of loss. He supposed he could have shown himself, but he wasn’t sure how that might affect Dean’s life in the long run, so he stayed hidden. Despite that, he never left Dean’s side. For the most part, Dean was a normal boy, and Castiel only had to intervene a few times to keep him from major harm. The baby gate at the top of the stairs came loose one day, and Castiel was right there to keep Dean from tumbling down. A small bone made it into Dean’s chicken dinner, Castiel disintegrated it before he could bite down. Dean’s ball rolled into the street, Castiel kicked it back. The night Mary Winchester died, Castiel picked up both boys himself and popped them to the threshold of the front door as soon as John Winchester’s back was turned.

And it went on like that for Dean’s entire life. He watched from afar as Dean grew and changed. He couldn’t fix everything for Dean, unfortunately, though he often wished that he could. Watching little Dean and Sam go hungry some nights when John Winchester was away on hunts made a strange tightness arise in Castiel’s chest that he couldn’t name at the time. And when a young teenage Dean took to turning tricks to keep food on the table, the only thing Castiel could do was put the most dangerous potential clients to sleep on their bar stools before they could interact with Dean, and heal him of any diseases he encountered. And when Dean started hunting full time, Castiel was really tested. He couldn't take out the Wendigo in the woods himself, but he could move Dean a few inches to the right, slow the creature down  _ just _ enough to give the brothers an opening. Free will is a tricky thing, and Castiel knows this, is careful about toeing the line. But every now and then he suspects that Dean knows he’s there. That he must realize he isn’t completely alone in this, that someone is looking out for him. That just maybe he remembers more from his childhood than he lets on. Or does he really think he’s just that lucky? 

Which is why, when Castiel raised Dean from Hell, he was sure Dean would be able to hear and understand his True Voice. After all, Dean was  _ his _ charge. He’d been with him since the moment Dean was born, he’d protected his body and  _ soul _ , up to and including laying claim to it in perdition. He’d rebuilt Dean’s entire body from scratch perfectly, an easy task after caring for it all of these years. Dean’s soul had certainly recognized him in hell, clinging and reaching for his grace as he flew them both out. 

But on earth, things were different. The barricade Castiel had built in Dean’s mind to filter his memories of Hell, to protect him from the worst of it, had also filtered out his rescue, and therefore Castiel. Dean didn’t know him, didn’t recognize him, couldn’t hear him. And when he met him in Jimmy Novak’s vessel, Castiel was forced to confront the fact that Dean really did believe he’d been alone all along. He truly had no concept of the lengths Heaven had gone to protect him and keep him safe. 

 

_ “Good things do happen, Dean.” _

_ “Not in my experience.” _

 

Castiel should have told him then, but he didn’t. Nor did he at any time in the next ten years, despite multiple opportunities. And so he knows that he only has himself to blame for his current situation. 

He’s hardly even an angel anymore with the way he’s fallen, the things he feels, and Dean is hardly his charge anymore, but in the end, nothing has changed except that it’s love that keeps him by Dean’s side, instead of duty. Perhaps someday he’ll muscle up the courage to tell Dean all of this, to admit that he’s loved him all along, since before he knew the meaning of the word. He wishes that he could be honest with Dean. Wishes there could be not only no space but no secrets left between them. And maybe someday there won’t be. But until then, Castiel will stay by Dean’s side, and watch over him. 


	3. VIDEO GAME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: VIDEO GAME  
> WARNINGS: VIOLENCE  
> RATING: TEEN (very mild sexual content, very mild gore, violent themes)  
> SUMMARY: Dean and Cas get stuck in a video game. Sam saves the day.

"Boss Battle"

 

It’s not like this is the _strangest_ thing that’s ever happened to Dean, per se. He considers that thought for a moment and then affirms that yes, while “strange” is a relative term, it’s not even like Dean hasn’t done almost this _exact_ same thing before, that time Gabriel dropkicked him and Sammy into fake-TV-land and he didn’t get to meet Doctor Sexy. Not that he’s still bitter. Or wait, actually, he’s very bitter at that winged douche, but at least Gabriel had the decency to give them the semblance of free will while they ran around like rats in a maze. Or, free movement, anyway. But now? Somehow Dean’s gotten himself stuck in what appears to be some kind of lifesize video game, a larger than life virtual landscape, and if he doesn’t move forward on his own, the game does it for him. 

The game seems boring as hell, honestly, appearing to be nothing more than an endless landscape of pixelated roadway, cornfields and big, blue midwestern sky. Dean wonders what kind of tool would even play this game, never mind create it, and what exactly he’s supposed to be accomplishing. He gives up trying to stand still or change direction, allowing the game to lope his legs along in an exaggerated, cartoon-ish fashion since that’s what happens when he attempts to stop anyway. He can steer just enough to skirt the edge of the “road” or the center line, but stray too far and he pops back into the center of his lane again, and that’s just not a comfortable feeling. It reminds Dean of when Cas popped them back in time way back when. Regardless, controlling his legs seems to not be an option at the moment.

As far as his arms though, for now, the game doesn’t seem to care what he does with them, so he checks his pockets. Easily locating the flask of holy water, silver knife, and lockpick kit he knows he put in his jacket this morning (and one Snickers bar), he has the sinking realization that he’s most likely really here. Just to be sure, he takes the knife and nicks his palm. The wound hurts, and it bleeds, and a disembodied female voice announces, “Health status: Ninety-eight percent,” overhead. Suddenly, dead ahead of him, a pink 3D diamond appears in the middle of his lane, and Dean runs right into it. Through it, actually, and when he does the same voice announces, “Health status: one hundred percent.”

“What the f-” Dean starts, but is cut off as a blinding light appears directly to his right, in the adjoining lane across the center line that Dean can’t cross. The light swirls and disappears, revealing a certain trench-coated angel running alongside him and looking incredibly annoyed. Dean and the disembodied voice speak at the same time.

“Cas!” Dean calls excitedly.

“Player Two has entered the game,” the voice says.

“Dean,” Cas replies, sounding worried and looking like he’s trying very hard to stop running, without success. “We have to get out of here. Something is about to happen.”

Dean gestures up and down his body. “Love to,” he says, “Any bright ideas?” Castiel reaches out his hand and Dean maneuvers as far as he can towards the center line. They’re able to get close enough that with their arms extended all the way out, their fingers can brush. Dean crooks his just a little, trying to hold on.  Nothing happens. “Um… Cas? Not that this isn’t real nice but, was there a point to the hand holding?”

Castiel pulls his hand back and furrows his brow, looking confused and concerned. “This is not good at all, Dean. I didn’t expect that I would enter the game as a player. Sam and I… I thought that I would be able to simply pop you back out. We didn’t know exactly what you were experiencing before I jumped in, but it’s stronger than I had anticipated.”

“So you guys know what’s causing this? Explain,” Dean demands and Castiel sighs.

“It’s not that simple Dean. It’s a construct… you aren’t really here. Neither am I.”

“Like hell I’m not,” Dean scoffs, and pulls out his knife, slicing his palm in a demonstration. “Check that out,” he says as he holds up his palm, showing off the blood as the voice announces that his health status has dropped again.  

Castiel surprises Dean by lunging towards him and looks surprised as hell himself when he’s popped back to the center of his lane. He recovers quickly and growls at Dean, “Damn it, Dean. Do not do that again. It IS a construct, but a powerful one. Your body is currently lying in a motel bed in Pella, Iowa. Your essence is here, and anything that happens to you in the game also happens to your body in the ‘real world,’ whether you take it seriously or not.” Castiel uses air quotes, and Dean smiles despite himself and the situation. His smile falters though when he processes the implications of Castiel’s words.

“So… theoretically, if my Health Status dropped to zero in the game…”

Castiel nods grimly. “You would die outside of it.” He thinks for a moment and then adds, “Game over.”

Dean can’t help but smile again. “Cute, Cas,” he grins at him, but Castiel just looks confused.

“There’s nothing cute about death, Dean,” he says gravely. “Even if I managed to exit the game at the moment of your expiration, there’s no guarantee my powers are strong enough right now to bring you back.” He hesitates for a moment. “They have been… unpredictable lately, and I’d rather not risk it. Not to mention there’s no guarantee that I wouldn’t be stuck in here.”

Dean nods and projects a confidence he’s not sure he really feels. Monsters, ghosts, angels - those are one thing. Being stuck in a construct world in which he has little control over his body and that he can permanently die in?  Yea that’s _actually_ scary. He doesn’t have much time to ponder it though, because at that moment two giant doors drop into the roadway, one for his lane and one for Castiel’s. The game brings them both to a rough stop immediately in front of the doors and they exchange a glance.

“What now?” Dean asks. “Do we go through it? Gotta say Cas, whatever’s on the other side can’t be worse than this whole Route 66 thing we got going here.” Castiel looks the door up and down and takes a step forward, but stops short when Dean cries out. The game has made him take a step forward as well, in sync with Castiel.

“Hmm,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “The game does seem to want us to move through the doors, perhaps we should reconsid-” He’s cut off abruptly as the game apparently gets sick of waiting and moves them both forward, each of their right arms coming up involuntarily to grasp their doorknobs and turn. Dean does his best to resist and move away from the black void stretching beyond the door, but it’s futile. He’s propelled through in a fiery flash of light.

When the light abates, the scenery has changed completely. Dean’s first impression is that it reminds him of a boss level from a nineties Nintendo game.  He’s standing on the edge of a circular platform and Castiel has appeared straight across from him on the other side. He turns to note that the edge of the platform drops off into endless space and to his surprise, discovers that he can move around freely. Castiel seems to discover this at about the same time, and they gravitate towards each other immediately, meeting at the center. As soon as he’s close enough, Dean reaches for Castiel’s hand. “Well?” He prods, after a moment of standing there together. “Can you blast us out of here?”

Castiel tilts his head and then looks down at their joined hands. “Oh,” he says, and then squints his eyes closed in concentration for a moment, tilting his head back and forth a couple of times and then opening them again. “No.” Dean sighs in frustration, opening his mouth to ask what the plan is when the disembodied voice booms overhead.

“Boss Battle,” the voice announces, sounding a hell of a lot more excited than Dean feels. “Winner takes all.” A neon green bar appears about a foot above Castiel’s head with the letters “HP” next to it. The indicator shows the bar is at “100%.”

“What the hell is that?” Dean points at it, but Castiel doesn’t even bother to follow his gaze, just indicates that Dean should look upward as well. When he does, he sees the same bar floating above his own head, except that he is at “97%.”  “Friggin’ fantastic,” he sighs. “Well, what now? Where’s the boss we’re supposed to fight?” He strides around the platform with his arms spread. “Come on, you son of a bitch,” he yells into the air. “Give me something to hit, already. Taking out evil _things_ is something I can actually do,” he finishes, looking to Castiel and expecting solidarity, but his angel has that squinty look he gets when he’s worried. “What, Cas,” Dean asks, dropping his hands in exasperation. “What now?”

“Dean, I think…” he starts, but the platform rumbles, shaking hard enough that both of them are thrown to the ground.

“BOSS BATTLE,” the voice insists, louder and more emphatically from somewhere above them, “FIGHT TO THE DEATH. WINNER TAKES ALL.” Castiel looks up from his place on the ground and meets Dean’s gaze.

“Dean I… I think we’re supposed to fight each other.”

Dean shakes his head, but he can already feel the game assuming control of his limbs, and unwillingly, he advances on Castiel.

 

***

_Meanwhile, in a motel room somewhere in rural Iowa…_

Sam hides in the motel bathroom, frantically mixing together the last ingredients for the spell as the witch works her mojo on the weak barrier spell he managed to put on the bathroom door. He adds the chicken feet last ( _chilled_ this time, so much for mistakes you only make once), and takes the magical barrier down himself, flinging the door wide open and casting the spell.

“Furor divina virtute in infernum eam detrude! Ego voco impetu delere vos, coelum et infernum!"

He lights the spell on fire, and a big gust of white smoke fills the room, seeking and swirling around the witch who implodes violently in a mix of blood and ash.

As soon as she does, Dean gasps awake and sits up forcefully. Castiel does the same in his own bed, minus the gasp. They’re both a bit beat up and bloody, cuts and bruises seemingly having magically appeared between when Sam shut himself in the bathroom and when the witch was finally killed. “Dean!” Sam smiles and starts towards him, but Dean ignores him in favor of swinging his legs off the bed and taking the short step over into Castiel’s space. He grabs him by the lapels and drags him off the bed and across the room, slamming him against the wall.

“You self-sacrificing son of a bitch!”  

Sam raises his eyebrows as he takes in the display.

“Dean, I will not apologize for prote-” Castiel starts but Dean just pulls him forward and slams him against the wall again.

“You know what? We’re not going to do this,” he says, his face inches from Castiel’s. “Because let me tell you something, buddy,” he flexes his hands on the trench coat lapels and takes a stance that Sam recognizes as Dean preparing for a fight.

Sam inches forward, intending to intervene on Castiel’s behalf because really, it’s not like Dean has any room to bitch about self-sacrificing behavior. Instead, he finds himself backing up quickly when he witnesses something that he was previously sure he’d die (for real) without ever seeing worked out.

Dean surges forward and kisses Castiel, and although momentarily stunned, it’s pretty obvious Castiel is kissing back.

“That’s new,” Sam says, and Dean flips him the finger without pulling away from the beat up angel pinned against the wall.

“Get out, Sam,” Dean says between slurping sounds, but Sam is already grabbing his phone, jacket, the keys to the Impala and is heading out the door.

“Yea, you’re welcome, by the way, for the insanely complicated and dangerous rescue,” he calls out over his shoulder.

Before the door slams shut behind him, he hears Dean grunt an acknowledgment and gets a simultaneous subdued, “Thank you, Sam,” from Cas.

Sam shakes his head, but he’s smiling. It’s about damn time.

But he’s definitely getting a second room. Those two can clean up the witch guts.


	4. MYTHOLOGY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: MYTHOLOGY  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: G  
> NOTES: This is a two-part Dr. Who crossover. The second part will fill Day 10: MASHUP (MYTHOLOGY/COFFEE SHOP), and will be at least a Mature rating. Stay tuned for more adventures of Dr. Dean and Castiel the Moon God. ;)  
> Also, Dean is not *the* doctor, he's just *a* timelord. Also, the Dr. Who lore is pretty light, if you know the general premise and what a Tardis is, you'll be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, as well as my lovely friend @CoinofStone, who pretty much fleshed out Castiel's entire background story, was some of my inspiration:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It is by Dahlia Sheng, here's a link to her tumblr.:  
> http://dahliasheng.tumblr.com

"Man in the Moon" (Part 1/2)

It’s a good thing that Castiel enjoys solitude since he lives with an abundance of it. Even in his heyday, back when he was the very definition of power and strength; worshipped and prayed to by millions, he was only ever understood by a select few. His brothers and sisters, Gods and Goddesses of old, including the Sun, the Water, the Weather, the Animals. Of Love and Sleep and War, of Fire and Death. Back when humans had respect- when they had unreliable shelter, subpar medications, and fickle food sources making them dependent on the mercy of the Gods. These days, anything can be manufactured, including it would seem, faith. Humans don’t have a need for Castiel and his brethren the way they used to. Some of his lesser known brothers and sisters have actually withered and slipped away, to wherever Gods go in the next life, thanks to the ungrateful little bastards. Castiel is lucky, in that sense. Enough cultures still worship and appreciate the moon that it keeps him sustained, if not thriving.

Castiel has gone by many names in his time. Sin, Mani, Luna, Tsukuyomi, Thoth, Bulan, Raka, Avatea, Metzli, Jaci, just to name a few. His favorite, though perhaps not his preferred moniker, has always been “The Man in the Moon,” and despite the myth not including any deity-like qualities nor lending itself to any particular worship, Castiel still gleans strength from those who enjoy the story and attempt to pick his features out of the moon’s surface. Beneath it all though, he’s always just been Castiel. Names bestow power, and Castiel has always kept this one for himself. The name means “Shield of God,” and while Castiel isn’t presumptuous enough to call himself his own shield, he has always considered the moon a kind of shield for Earth, and himself as the guardian, so there’s some narrative poetry there if he does say so himself.

Which is why, when a strange man in glasses and a brown pinstripe suit with a tie who steps out of a strangely shaped spacecraft that he’s landed rather rudely _right_ in the middle of Castiel’s coffee shop, asks him his name, he has no idea what possesses him to actually give it. Prior to the interruption, Castiel had been smack in the middle of his morning routine; opening the shop while enjoying a _very_ strong cup of coffee made from beans that had been given to him in offering by Baba Budan himself, before he planted the rest in the Chandragiri hills of Karnataka, India in the mid-16th century.  Castiel had been mid-sip, as well as mid-swipe of his rag over the espresso machine when the atmosphere began to quiver and vibrate audibly, a black, vertical box with the words “Police Public Call Box” winking into existence and usurping the space that Castiel’s one table and set of chairs normally occupy.

Castiel had stood there for a moment and waited patiently, but the box did nothing, and no one emerged. Being a God, Castiel could tell that the box was a ship of some kind and more than it appeared to be, but that was all he could be sure of. He thought he sensed a presence inside, more than a human being but less than a God, but again he couldn’t be sure. Castiel is used to waiting though, so he went about continuing his routine as usual, except that when he set out his small table and chairs, he had to move them slightly to the right to accommodate the box. Not that there are actual physical constraints to Castiel’s coffee shop, but aesthetic is aesthetic. When he was done, he went behind the counter to wait. He did consider the possibility that the box might simply blink back out of existence at any time and be gone forever, and for some reason, that made Castiel nervous.

He _liked_ solitude, he had reminded himself. Sure, he missed the days when his brethren had the power to visit him regularly, blinking back and forth between the moon, the Earth, and anywhere else they desired to visit, but those days have been long gone and Castiel has come to terms with it. ...Hasn’t he? He thought so but… the idea that _someone_ is really here, that he could perhaps talk to or share a cup of coffee with them… it warms something in Castiel’s chest. And when the door to the police box opens and the man steps out, it warms another part of Castiel entirely.

The man (he’s not sure yet that the word “man” describes this creature adequately, after all, Castiel himself looks human by choice) is stunning. Castiel’s always had a fondness for the human form (again, just look to his chosen image), but been essentially indifferent to sexual orientation and sexuality. He’d had a brief fling with a demon eons ago, but she’d stopped pursuing him when he made it clear that he’d never leave the moon. Castiel sometimes looks back and wonders if that had been a mistake. But now, gazing upon the sandy-haired, bow-legged Adonis (the real Adonis doesn’t even come close) that has brazenly stepped foot into his home, he’s remiss to question any of the past choices that have led him to this moment.

“Uh, hey there,” Adonis starts, flashing him a wide, toothy grin and giving a short wave. “This is still Earth’s moon, right? I didn’t get the coordinates wrong? I wasn’t aware anyone lived here.” Castiel finds his mouth a little dry, and when he opens it, nothing seems to come out. Adonis scratches the back of his neck and looks around Castiel’s little shop. “So anyway, I’m Dean,” he says, advancing on Castiel with his hand outstretched. “And you are?”

Castiel blinks for another moment, the man’s inner essence is just so _bright_ , and then gets himself together enough to reply, “Cas- Castiel, my name is Castiel.”

“Nice to meet ya, Cas,” Adonis- _Dean-_ says, still smiling. “So… this your place?” He gestures around the little shop.

Castiel raises his eyebrows and the man blushes a little. “I’m the Man in the Moon,” he explains simply. “Who else would it belong to?”

Dean shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Gotta be lonely up here by yourself… when’s the last time you had a,” he pauses, taking in the lack of enclosure, the coffee-making equipment, and the lone table and chances, “...customer?”

It’s Castiel’s turn to shrug. “I don’t do it for others,” he answers and Dean nods.

“I get that,” he says, and then clears his throat. “Well, I’ve just saved your planet here from a pretty invasive subspecies Rycorex invasion, was pretty entrenched in North America… they made it all the way to the Presidency,” Dean shakes his head. “Nasty things, feed on hatred and fear. They’ll be alright now, once they sort out the designated survivor situation. Great show,” he finishes.

“The invasion?”

“No, the TV show - Designated Survivor? Oh, you probably don’t get TV up here, huh.” Dean cocks his head sympathetically. “What about movies? Tell me you’ve watched Star Wars?”

Castiel squints, and tucks his head, uncertain and wondering if Dean is mocking him. He twists a dishcloth in his hands. “I… if that’s a pop culture reference, you’ll find that it’s lost on me. I’m aware of the basic goings on down on Earth but I’m not really able to affect anything.” He holds up a hand as if to demonstrate his lack of abilities. “Nor do people bother talking to me when they don’t want something… Prayer power isn’t what it used to be,” he finishes lamely.

Instead of being disappointed, Dean looks excited and nods vigorously. “Yea, I hear you, man! No one calls for a timelord because they just want to hang out. Always a world that needs saving or a galaxy that’s about to be eaten by a giant Sun-god.” He pauses and looks at Castiel sideways, “Relative of yours?”

“Not that I know of…” Castiel replies slowly, brow furrowed. He finds Dean strange, but charming, and the thought of him leaving is… unpleasant. Perhaps Castiel can get him to stay. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Dean brightens further, which Castiel would have believed before wasn’t possible. “Whiskey?”

Castiel shakes his head apologetically and waves his hand at the equipment. “Just coffee.”

Dean smiles anyway. “I like mine black,” he says. Castiel pours him a cup using his best mug, and brings it over to the little table, setting it down and returning to his place behind the counter. Dean sits and looks up at him. “Aren’t you going to sit with me, Cas?”

Cas. It’s been ages since he had a nickname. He thinks one of his brothers used to affectionately call him Cassie, but it’s been so long that it’s hard to remember, and oh, there's that warm feeling in his chest again. “Oh, um. I hadn’t thought about it,” he replies, but makes his way back around the counter and sits across from Dean. Dean drinks and Castiel sits, and the silence isn't uncomfortable. 

“This is nice, Cas,” Dean says after a few moments, and Castiel looks down, shyly.

“Thank you,” he replies. “It’s nice to have someone here to appreciate it.”

Dean nods. “I know what you mean… I’m used to being alone but…” he trails off and lifts one shoulder. “Hey, maybe after this you could come check out my Baby.”

Now Castiel is really confused. “You have a child?”

Dean laughs, loud and sweet, and Castiel is somehow even more enamored with him. “I like you, Cas,” he says. “But no, man. My ride,” he gestures towards the black box. “That’s a Type 67 Tardis. Might not be the newest model, but she’s my pride and joy. And she’s much bigger on the inside,” Dean says with a wink. “Come on, come see,” he adds, draining his cup and standing. “Ooo, maybe we can watch Star Wars later!” He holds a hand out towards Castiel, who takes it, almost without a second thought. Who _is_ this man that has cast such an instant spell over him? Castiel doesn’t know, but he’s going to find out. His mouth stretches up at the corner as he rises, holding onto Dean’s hand firmly and allowing himself to be led towards the box.

Dean slides a key into the lock, and they step inside, the door closing behind them.

The moon is quiet, still and airless.  Some time passes and then as suddenly as it arrived, the black Tardis comes to life and flickers seemingly right out of existence. Castiel's coffee shop flickers and disappears as well. Only the moon remains. 

 

[For part two, please click here :)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158227/chapters/38018357)


	5. MEDIC/FIREFIGHTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: MEDIC/FIREFIGHTER  
> WARNINGS: EXPLICIT GAY SEX, CHEATING, SELF-HATE, UNSAFE SEX, SEMI-PUBLIC SEX.  
> RATING: E  
> NOTES: This is actually Chapter 3 of my EMS AU WIP "Saved." If you enjoy this chapter, which can be read as a standalone (hence why I'm bothering to post it over here), please head on over to "Saved" and check it out in its entirety (or, what's there as of yet). Mind the tags for the full work; they are much more than the ones I have tagged for here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Waves*  
> ONE MORE WARNING! This chapter is rated "E"! There be copious smut ahead!

"Saved, Chapter 3"

 

Dean doesn’t go home that night, or the next one. The first night, he drowns his sorrows at the bar down the street from the station until last call. He’d hoped Castiel would join him, but he had to go home as Bartholomew as expecting him. They texted off and on, crossing the line between friendly and flirty around Dean’s third beer. By his fifth, they were sexting. Sometimes there were long gaps between when Castiel was able to reply, and Dean wondered what he was doing. It was pretty clear Cas wasn’t thrilled with his relationship, but Dean didn’t want to think about that too much, because if Castiel deserved better than Bart, someone who at least showed him off proudly and would kiss him in public than he certainly deserved better than some closeted fucking with Dean. And yet, despite his fears and self-loathing, Dean can’t seem to force himself to stay away.

Castiel isn’t the only one who texts him. Lisa has sent about thirty messages, and called twice, leaving a voicemail that he hasn’t listened to. He deletes each text as it comes in without even glancing at the content. When his phone vibrates with her third call, Dean hits the asshole button and signals the bartender that he wants to switch to whiskey. The bar is okay, a typical small town dive with neon signs on the walls and string lights hanging from the ceiling. Shitty jukebox playing shitty background music, couple pool tables. Dean weighs his options. He could try and hustle a little, though that’s something he’s generally avoided since becoming a paramedic - integrity and representing the job and all. He could play for fun, but the only folks playing are a couple of douchebag-looking co-eds, and that doesn’t actually sound like fun at all. He could try to score with the local talent, but undoubtedly that’d get back to Lisa, or worse - Cas.

Dean starts a little when he realizes he’s far more concerned about  _ Cas _ thinking he doesn’t want him, than Lisa. He and Cas can’t even call what they’re doing a relationship - for all he knows that business in the Impala was a one-time thing. Why the hell is he caught up in what  _ Cas _ might think of him, for hooking up? Dean’s head is a little fuzzy, and this train of thought isn’t going anywhere productive, so instead of working it out, he shrugs it off and signals to the bartender for another. Guess that solves what he’s doing tonight, then. Alcohol, it is. He drinks until he can barely stand and the bartender cuts him off. The station is close enough for him to walk to, even if he has to lean on a few buildings for balance on the way.

Dean doesn’t run into anyone at the station, the night duty crew must be asleep. Dean steals a cigarette from someone’s pack of smokes sitting on the counter in the ambulance bay and smokes outside alone. He’s sobered up enough by the time he’s finished to not trip on his own feet going up the stairs. The crew tonight is all female, so the men’s bunk room is empty.  Dean trudges in, closes the door and collapses onto one of the three twin beds without turning the light on. He pulls out his phone to check the time; three AM. There’s a message from Cas waiting, and Dean swipes it open, hoping it’s not from two hours (and four to five drinks) ago. It’s not - it was sent fifteen minutes ago, and Dean internally fist pumps.

_ Cas: are you awake?  _

_ Dean: Ya… tipsY ;) _

_ Cas: where are you, Dean? _

_ Dean: Station… u shud b her _

_ Cas: I’m not sure if that’s a drunken mistake or a Freudian slip _

_ Dean: I’ll slip you… sumthing ;) _

_ Dean: Come c me. M’nevr goin home _

_ Cas: I can’t… maybe tomorrow. _

_ Cas: I miss you. _

__

Inebriated as he is, Dean knows this is verging into dangerous territory, so he steers it back to what feels safe.

 

_ Dean: i miss ur cock… want it in me Cas _

_ Cas: don’t tease me, Dean _

 

The conversation deteriorates from there. Castiel has a surprisingly dirty mouth, and despite the whiskey, Dean is hard as hell in his pants. Soon he’s got them unbuttoned and a hand shoved down there, jacking himself roughly while he reads about the things Castiel wishes he was doing to him right that minute. He types back one-handed and between that and his drunken spelling, is sure Castiel can’t be getting much out of this conversation. But Castiel says he’s right there with him, touching himself and already close just thinking about Dean doing the same. When Dean’s orgasm starts to hit, he pulls the pillow over his head and pushes down over his mouth so that his moans are quieted while he comes all over his hand and boxers. He lies there for a minute, breathing heavily and thinks he should feel more ashamed than he does. Instead, he has to admit to himself that he feels truly alive, for the first time in years.

_ Dean: G’night Cas… think about visiting me 2moro, OK? _

_ Cas: Goodnight, Dean. Sleep tight. _

***

Dean finds himself in the same bar again the following night, but this time Cas shows up in the late evening. Apparently, Bartholomew is away for a night or two attending some legal conference in Kansas City. Dean feels reckless and free sitting next to Cas in public, their thighs brushing occasionally and sending sparks straight to his groin. Everyone knows he and Cas are tight, no one would think anything of them hanging out and throwing back some drinks. Dean has to stop drinking earlier tonight, since he’s on duty at six AM for a twenty-four-hour shift, and Cas is too. It’s the perfect cover - the duty crew won’t even blink at them staying the night to be safe and on time after a little drinking and socializing. Unfortunately, the crew is split by gender tonight - Garth is working, so the men’s bunk room will have another occupant. Maybe that’s for the best, Dean thinks. Even though he knows it happens fairly often, hooking up at the station is kind of disrespectful and tacky.  

And yet, he can hardly stand to keep his hands to himself. They’ve only been physically intimate once, but Dean craves more from Castiel. When he’d read back their text exchange from the night before in the sober light of day, Dean’s cheeks had been on fire, and he’d been appalled at his own behavior. The things he’d said and asked for? Where did all that even come from? It was one thing over text, and it was understandable while he was drunk, but would Cas really expect him to be ready for…  _ that?  _ As much as Dean could begrudgingly admit in his own mind (and, apparently via text to Castiel when drunk) that he harbored a desire to be fucked into oblivion, actually going through with it was another thing altogether. Dean’s hardly even had his fingers up there, it’s not like that’s something a straight man can come out and ask his girlfriend to do for him.

So he’s nervous. But it turns out, he has nothing to fear, because not only does Castiel know what an impending big gay freakout looks like, he also knows  _ Dean, _ and he makes it clear that there are no expectations. For now, in the bar, they’re just two bros hanging out and doing bro things. And touching their thighs together. Just a little.

The walk back to the station in the cool, crisp air is sobering, and much needed. Castiel smiles at him a lot, and the backs of their hands brush occasionally. Dean fights the simultaneous urges to run in the other direction and to slam Castiel up against a building so he can shove his tongue down his throat. In the end, the second urge wins out as they cut down a side alley as a shortcut. Dean peeks over his shoulder just to make sure there’s no one around, and then without warning, he has Cas pinned up against the bricks, their mouths coming together hot and sweet. Kissing Castiel is addictive, and Dean can’t get enough. He lets their tongues slide together for a bit, slipping his hands down Castiel’s back and grabbing two handfuls of his ass. Castiel groans into his mouth and pushes his hips forward, grinding against Dean, who pulls back in surprise when he feels something hard between Castiel’s cheeks.

His eyes are wide as he takes in Castiel’s lust-filled, hooded-eyed expression and mischievous half smile. Dean runs his fingers over the lump again and demands, “What the fuck is that, dude?” Castiel grabs a handful of his shirt and reels him back in, kissing him deeply until Dean starts to melt against him again, breaking away only to kiss a trail up Dean’s jaw to his ear.

Cas’ voice is lower than usual in his ear, and he flips their positions, pressing Dean back into the wall as he replies, “What do you think it is, Dean?” The admission makes Dean tip his head back and swallow heavily in a mix of anticipation and nerves.

“Jesus, Cas,” he breathes, as Castiel works his way down Dean’s neck.

“Let’s go,” Castiel says, pulling away and grabbing Dean’s hand, dragging him along behind him. “We’re not going to fuck for the first time in an alley.”  

“Um… where  _ are  _ we going to… fuck?” Dean ventures, letting himself be pulled. “I mean… we probably shouldn’t… at work…” he trails off weakly, and Cas just shoots him a look over his shoulder. Castiel keys open the side door at the station, and yanks Dean into the ambulance bay, opening the door to the truck that’s out of service and climbing into the back, Dean’s hand still gripped tightly in his own. Once inside, he pulls Dean close and kisses him hard, then pulls away and shoves him down onto the stretcher. “Ouch, Cas, take it easy,” Dean complains, but he’s laughing as he reaches behind himself at an awkward angle to unbuckle the seatbelts that are digging into his back. “Come here,” he says, reaching up and pulling Castiel down to kiss him more softly. Castiel straddles his legs, feet on the ambulance floor and rocks gently in his lap.

“Does it turn you on knowing I made myself ready for you?” Castiel is trying for seductive, but Dean knows him too well not to recognize the note of insecurity in his voice.

“Cas,” he replies, cupping Castiel’s face in his hand, “You know I hate sappy stuff.” Castiel smiles and moves to grind down on him again, but Dean stills his hips. “Wait- Wait… listen,” he says, looking up into Castiel’s eyes. “I’m no good at this. But you know, you’re more to me than just this,” he gestures between them. “You get me?”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel replies, swinging one leg back over the stretcher and reaching behind Dean to rummage in one of the jump bags. He throws the airway kit onto the counter and fishes through it, making a triumphant noise as he pulls a little packet out and waves it in Dean’s face.

Dean holds up a finger. “Are you telling me that you did all that prep but forgot to bring lube? Did you at least bring a condom?”

Castiel bites his lip as he settles in Dean’s lap again. “I may have been a bit excited to see you,” he admits, looking down. “I’m clean and so is… but if you don’t want to, I understand.”

Dean hesitates for a moment, and then blurts out, “I’m clean too,” and then more calmly, “I want to.”

Castiel looks up again, surprised. “You’re sure,” he checks, and Dean nods.

They come together again, lips sliding against each other, tongues tangling. Dean reaches for the button on Castiel’s pants, loosens it along with his zipper, and pushes them and his underwear down over Cas’ hips. It’s awkward getting them off, considering they’re making out in a half-reclined position on a narrow stretcher, but they manage it, though Castiel leaves everything wrapped around one ankle. He goes for the fastenings on Dean’s jeans then, but Dean stops him, breaking their kiss and meeting Castiel’s eyes. He leans forward and encourages Castiel up on his knees, bringing a half-naked Castiel’s cock to right in front of his face. Dean licks his lips and steels himself, he  _ definitely  _ wants this, but this… this is a line. What kind of line, Dean’s not exactly sure but he’s positive it’s a line of some sort. He lets his eyes flutter shut as he closes his lips over the tip of Cas’ cock, swirling his tongue around the tip experimentally. Castiel’s fingers thread into his short hair, his other hand resting gently on Dean’s cheek. Feeling more comfortable, Dean takes in as much of Cas as he can, sliding up and down several times before getting carried away and letting Castiel’s moans make him slightly overconfident. As a result, he has to pull off, and is just in time to prevent something embarrassing from happening. He flushes as he clears his throat and wipes his mouth, worried Castiel will think he’s a total idiot, but the man just leans down and kisses Dean’s mouth affectionately. “Thank you, Dean,” he says warmly, pushing Dean back to rest against the inclined head of the stretcher.

From there, Castiel lets his hands trail down Dean’s clothed chest and abdomen, blazing a direct path to the hem of his pants. Once unbuttoned, Dean lifts up just enough to scoot his clothes down to his thighs and free his own cock. Sucking Castiel off was surprisingly arousing, and Dean doesn’t quite know how to feel about that, so he doesn’t think about it at all. Instead, he guides Castiel’s hips forward to show that he’s ready. Castiel pulls his own plug out, and slicks Dean up, using one hand to guide Dean’s dick to his entrance and holding it there until Dean manages to push the head inside.  Castiel breathes out and sinks down in one fluid motion, taking Dean to the hilt almost immediately, and Dean’s fingers tighten on the thin padding of the stretcher. Dean lets his head fall forward to rest on Castiel’s chest and takes a few deep breaths to steady himself as he wraps his arms around Castiel’s back. He feels Cas’ arms come around him too, and while part of him would love to pull back and look Castiel in the eyes, it’s just too much- too intimate, so he stays where he is. Castiel begins to rock, and Dean lets him lead, meeting him thrust for thrust as he sets the rhythm. As things intensify, Dean shifts to bury his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck and shoulder, feeling the vibration of his moans bleeding into Dean’s own chest. He snakes a hand in between them to bring Castiel off too, making sure he finishes first. Dean isn’t far behind, using Castiel’s shoulders as leverage to fuck up into him hard, making him moan and grip onto Dean’s hair. When he comes, Castiel arches his back, pressing his taut stomach tight up against Dean like he’s reveling in the feeling. It’s like nothing Dean has ever experienced or imagined, and when Castiel’s gorgeous blue eyes slit open, catching Dean’s gaze and crinkling with happiness, he realizes he is royally fucked.

***

When they’re as cleaned up as they’re going to get in the restroom of the fire bay, Dean sends Castiel upstairs to go to sleep. “Just in case Garth is still up,” he explains, and though he knows Castiel sees through him, he’s kind enough to let Dean have this one. He squeezes Dean’s hand and heads up the stairs, promising to see him up there. When Castiel is out of sight, Dean fishes in the jacket he left behind, grabbing his smokes and heading outside. He’s not freaking out,  _ he’s not freaking out.  _ He just needs a minute. Unfortunately for Dean, when he steps outside, the rest of his problems are sitting on the hood of the Impala, waiting for him.

“Lisa. What are you doing here?”


	6. VICTORIAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: VICTORIAN  
> WARNINGS: PROSTITUTION, PERIOD-TYPICAL HOMOPHOBIA  
> RATING: TEEN  
> NOTES: Molly Clubs were a very real thing! "Shake a flannin" means start a fight.

"The Molly Club"

_London, 1851_

Down a damp cobblestone side street bathed only in moon and lamplight, there’s a shadowed entrance to an alleyway that any respectable person would hurry right on past. It would be perfectly understandable to think that nothing good could be waiting down a dark and dirty passageway such as this one. But for those in the know, that darkened tunnel is actually a gateway to a haven of sorts. If you’d be brave enough to step on through and use your hand to follow the clammy walls or a lantern to light your way, you’d soon come upon an unmarked door set back into the stone, two torches framing its borders and only one lit. There is a saying amongst those who talk of this place… _If the torches are out then hurry away, but if one is lit, then come and play._ As the story goes, the light will only go out if the proprietor has died or gotten arrested, or if the Peelers have their eyes on the place.

The alley outside the door is quiet, save for the wind and the drippings of water and sewage. Whatever the goings-on inside, the heavy stone masks all noises, at least until the door is opened. And open it does, when a man walks brusquely towards it, rapping three times and showing his face to the peephole from under his hat. He’s admitted without question, and when the door cracks the sound of music and laughter floats out into the night air. Once inside, the man removes his hat and jacket, hanging them on the rack and revealing that he’s none other than London’s most well-regarded blacksmith John Winchester’s eldest son, Dean. Dean has the kind of face that would make men who didn’t know him scoff at the idea of him apprenticing to take over for his father in his shop - pretty green eyes, long eyelashes, plush lips, high cheekbones, and there’s been talk more than once about what his body might better be served doing for the men of London. But the hard, skilled and physical labor of ironwork has made Dean’s body strong, and a man would be taking his life in his hands to say those things where he could hear them. They weren’t, however, wrong about his inclinations, and that’s what brings Dean the Blacksmith’s son to The Molly Club.

He makes his way around the room with familiar ease, greeting friends and accepting introductions to the few he doesn’t already know, but if you were to watch him closely, despite his manners, you’d note that he hasn’t taken his eyes off of one particular man since the moment he strolled through the door. It’s probably not the other, drunken man sprawled across the object of his attention’s lap, as that is the state of most of the men in the room, at least, for those who aren’t dancing or playing music. Dean accepts a drink from the fellow tending bar and runs his mouth along the rim provocatively as he finally approaches the man in the corner. Dark, tousled hair, bright blue eyes, and muscles that would paint him a day laborer, the man holds Dean’s gaze and maintains a playful smirk. Dean sets his glass down on the table next to the dark-haired man, and without so much as a warning, grabs other the man splayed across his lap by the lapels and hauls him to his feet.

“Oy!” The man sways a little before he gets his bearings, and glares at Dean. “Are you trying to shake a flannin?”

Dean just shrugs and brushes his hands together. “Just want to enjoy what’s mine.”

“He’s not _yours_ , Dean Winchester,” the other man spits. “I know you fancy yourself his righteous man, but I’ve got as much a right to _enjoy_ him as you do.” At that, Dean pushes up his sleeves and grabs the other man by the front of his dirty shirt, arm muscles flexing as he pulls his fist back, aiming for the man’s face, hesitating only when a third, familiar voice joins the ruckus. 

“Boys, boys, do we have a problem here?” The Molly Club’s proprietor glides into the room, dressed in expensive finery that even the best of his clientele most likely can’t afford. With a drink in his hand and an air of amusement surrounding his less-than-intimidating stature, a lesser man might be fooled into thinking Fergus Crowley is a pushover, someone to be trifled with. In reality, it’s only because of a secret desire that Dean might someday look his way that Crowley hasn’t manhandled him out the door by brute strength alone, with a lifetime ban to boot. Dean doesn’t even glance at him, nor does he lower his fist.

“Just protecting my interests, Crowley,” Dean replies, but he relaxes his grip a little. Crowley places his hand over the one Dean has fisted in the man’s clothes, and he finally lets go, dropping his fighting stance.

“I’ll remind you again, Dean, that Castiel doesn’t belong to you, nor would he be incapable of making his own decisions even if he did,” Crowley purrs. “You,” he directs his gaze to the other man. “Scram.” The man scowls, but Crowley doesn’t flinch, so he grabs his jacket and hat and makes for the door. “We’ll see you next, Marv,” Crowley calls after him.

“By hell, you will,” the man mutters and slams the door behind him. Crowley turns to Dean and shrugs. “We will,” he says simply, and Dean grins. Once Marv is gone, the room returns to its previous level of fun and frivolity and Dean turns away, but not before Crowley can catch his arm. Dean looks down at the hand on him, and then up at Crowley, raising his eyebrows. “Dean,” he starts, “I’ve asked you not to cause trouble in this hallowed place.” Dean sighs and averts his eyes but doesn’t respond at first.

When he does, it’s with determination and poorly concealed frustration. “I’ll buy his papers from you, Crowley. Just give me time.”

Crowley pats Dean’s shoulder. “I know you will. And when that day comes, you can throw around anyone who so much as looks twice at Feathers over there. But today is not that day, and _today_ Castiel does what I tell him to do. So….?” Dean grinds his teeth but produces money from his waistcoat pocket. Crowley counts it and then nods, flouncing away towards some back room and undoubtedly his own entertainment while tossing over his shoulder, “He’s yours for the night.”

Dean knows that Castiel’s eyes have never left him, though he’s still in the same casually relaxed position he was when Dean first walked in; one leg slung over the arm of his overstuffed chair, the other splayed to the side, creating an inviting space between his legs. Dean sits in it, throwing his legs over the other arm of the chair, and draping his own around Castiel’s neck, as the other man’s come up around his waist.

“Why, Sir Dean,” Castiel greets him, still smirking, “What have I done to deserve such a knight in shining armor coming to my rescue?”

Dean rolls his eyes and kisses Castiel’s chapped mouth. “Stow it, Cas. That guy is a pig.”

“All men are pigs,” Castiel returns, unbothered.

“Even me?” Dean nuzzles into his neck, and Castiel laughs.

“Especially you,” he replies, but his arms tighten around Dean.

They sit like that for a few moments, just holding each other until Dean pulls back and their gazes lock. “Leave with me,” Dean pleads, voice soft and full of affection, "When I go." 

Castiel humors him. “And where would _I_  go, Dean? What would I do? Will I be your kept boy in your father’s house? Do you think he’d want me to call him ‘Father’?” Castiel laughs so hard he almost dislodges Dean from his lap. Dean digs his fingers into Castiel’s thigh in retaliation.

“We’ll run away,” he implores. “We’ll start over, somewhere else. We could say we’re brothers. Brothers live together, sometimes.”

Castiel sighs, and looks away wistfully. “I could never put you in that sort of danger, Dean. Just the other week a man was put to death in Sussex, we all heard about it. And if it’s not the law, it’s _people_ … regular people, with hate and fear in their hearts who would surely see through two _confirmed bachelors_ cohabitating. Besides, I owe a debt to Crowley. And you know as well as I do, that he has ways of finding those who stiff him.” He turns his head back and meets Dean’s sad eyes, unable to resist reaching up and touching his cheek. “Besides,” he adds, “If it hadn’t been for Crowley, we would never have found each other.”

“Well, who am I to argue that,” Dean says in reply, turning his face into Castiel’s hand to kiss his palm.

“Would you like to come upstairs with me?” Castiel’s tone is soft and sweet, despite his low, gravely voice.

“I bought your time, not your body,” Dean says contemptuously, snuggling into Castiel’s side. “Let’s stay here for now.”

Castiel smiles and cards his hand through Dean’s hair. “You may have to pay for my time for now Dean, but I give you my body freely. My body, my heart, and my soul. Always yours, always without expectation.”

They sit like that, for a while, before retiring upstairs, beyond where other eyes can see.

If you were to watch, if you were to see behind the stone door, in the Molly Club hidden in the alleyway, down a darkened side street in 1850's London, you’d see a place where the son of a blacksmith and a broke but not broken prostitute carved out a small space to feel safe with each other. In a place that might have been created for men to play and debauch, but somehow provided a means for two of them to fall in love.


	7. HARRY POTTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: HARRY POTTER  
> WARNINGS: REFERENCES TO CANONICAL CHARACTER DEATHS IN HARRY POTTER. SPECIFIC SPOILERS FOR HARRY POTTER.  
> RATING: TEEN (LANGUAGE, IMPLIED SEXUAL CONTENT, IMPLIED GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/DEATH)
> 
> NOTES: I'm sick as hell, sorry if this isn't up to par.

 "In The Closet"

The battle of Hogwarts was a once in a lifetime kind of event, the kind of thing every wizard alive at the time not only remembers but recalls exactly where they were and what they were doing when it all went down. If you were a student or teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1998, you may have been there, if your parents hadn’t forced you to come home for your own safety by that point. For most students who _were_ there, remembering the battle means remembering being both terrified and determined, the natural effects of deciding to take a courageous stand for what was right, putting yourself directly in harm’s way, with only your fellow wizards and magic you weren’t yet proficient with to protect you. Though most would tell you today that it was an easy decision to make to defend not only Hogwarts, but their entire way of life, their homes and families, and the magical world itself, folks often forget that these brave young witches and wizards were really not much more than a crowd of young teenagers and their teachers. Needless to say, it was a defining moment in the lives of everyone who was there.

So if you were to ask someone who fought in the battle of Hogwarts to describe what it was like, they’d probably recount in great detail a tale of terror, of fear, of pain, and likely of death. It might include watching a dead Harry Potter be carried from the Forbidden Forest in apparent defeat, or watching their closest friends, who should have been celebrating passing their OWLS, fight and be struck down right in front of them. It might include seeing the Dark Mark lighting up the night sky, or Voldemort himself rising up right in front of them. It might include protecting the school’s youngest wizards in barricaded common rooms, or wondering if they’d live to ever see their families again.

It would be extremely unusual to encounter someone who would describe the Battle of Hogwarts as a _happy_ memory for them, at least, not someone who isn’t currently incarcerated for life in Azkaban or court-certified full-blown insane. But most people, most wizards, are not Castiel and Dean Winchester, who at the time of the Battle were two very well-respected, but very lonely, Hogwarts professors. Though it took them quite a while to reveal to their friends and family where they _really_ were during the Battle, looking back now, they’re apt to tell you they wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

It all started during the preparations. The professors and other adult staff had met and formulated a plan of defense, as well as discussed ways to secure the castle. They’d prepared spells and potions and were in the process of concealing or locking certain areas of the castle so that in the event that it was overtaken, they wouldn’t inadvertently provide aid and supplies to Voldemort’s camp. In the aftermath of this meeting as the group had begun to nervously disperse to finish securing the vast premises, Dean Winchester had an idea. Dean was the music and muggle music professor at Hogwarts, and his best friend Castiel Novak taught the advanced subject of Alchemy. Inseparable since their own first year at the school, they would likely have been roommates all along, were it not for the fact that Castiel had been sorted into Hufflepuff and Dean into Gryffindor.

Perhaps if that had been the case, it wouldn’t have taken over ten years and an epic battle to the death (fortunately not their own) for them to stop tiptoeing around their feelings for each other. As it were, _everyone_ \- students and faculty alike - knew Professors Novak and Winchester were head over heels for each other. Everyone except Dean and Castiel. Dean and Castiel who spent _all_ of their time together. 

Who waited outside each other’s classrooms at lunch, and at the end of the day, so that they could share meals together. Who could often be found tossing the Quaffle around on their respective Quidditch team’s practice broomsticks or fishing off the dock in the water surrounding the castle, or even, as one of their students gleefully insisted she’d found them when she’d snuck down late at night for a snack, _baking_ together in the giant Hogwarts kitchen below the Great Hall. But that was all. There were rumors flying around that Castiel and Dean had been secretly dating all along and were just very private (but maybe not _that_ private, because seriously, the _staring)_ , but those were just that, rumors. In reality, that line had never been crossed.

But that didn’t mean they didn’t want to. Even now (maybe especially now), in a literal staff meeting discussing potentially facing down their own deaths, Dean found himself stealing glances at Castiel, letting his eyes glaze over as he thought about running his fingers through that dark hair, pressing his chest up against Castiel’s hard, muscled one and-

“Professor Winchester,” Garth, the new squib janitor was shaking his shoulder to get his attention. “The meeting is over,” he whispered, patting Dean’s arm before walking away.

As the other professors hurried away on their own missions, Dean tugged anxiously on the sleeve of Castiel’s robe. “Cas,” he said urgently, “I’ve got an idea for modifying a demon bomb - might work on the dementors. You in?” Castiel nodded. “We’ll have to grab supplies from the Potions storeroom.” The two of them moved quickly through the castle, familiar after all these years with its twists and turns, and were soon rummaging through what felt like endless rows of shelving and bottles. Dean was gathering supplies at a fairly good clip when his spidey senses suddenly tingled and he heard a soft “click” from beyond the exterior door. He froze in place. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Castiel asked distractedly, squinting as he held a glass bottle with sparkling green liquid up to the light.

“It sounded like…” Dean trailed off as he made his way to the door and tried the knob. It didn’t open, so he tried again, and again, then moved to banging and yelling, but the door did not budge, and no one seemed to hear them. “What the hell!” Dean cried angrily, kicking the door and running his hand through his hair in frustration.

Castiel moved to his side, standing there stoically and critically regarding the door with his head tilted to the right. “Look,” he deadpanned, pointing towards the bottom of the door where a pink mist was barely visible. “It’s a magical lock… someone sealed the door from the outside.” This pronouncement has Dean changing tack as he whips his wand out and starts hurling every spell related to unlocking and revealing he knows at the door, frustratingly deteriorating into destruction spells when they fail, but nothing so much as dents the solid wood.  

“It’s powerful,” Castiel says, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Uh, you think?! You’re a regular fucking Sherlock.”

Castiel shakes his head, and moves towards the door, examining the wood like he can see through it. Castiel’s a badass, for all Dean knows, he can. “I just mean… we won’t be able to break it. It probably requires one of the wizards who cast it to do so… I believe this is semi-permanent lock they’ve used here.”

“Without CHECKING if anyone was inside?! Our MAIN POTIONS SUPPLY CLOSET?! Who is seriously that dumb?” Dean’s face was quickly turning red. “There’s no getting out of here! Cas, what do we do? We’re _stuck_ here, we’re trapped like rats.” Dean had both hands in his hair and looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating. Castiel made his way into Dean’s bubble of personal space and gently disentangled them, holding Dean’s hands in his own. He was about to walk Dean through some breathing exercises when the entire castle seemed to shake.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dean groaned, shaking Castiel off and returning to pacing. “It’s started. We’re supposed to be up there, and instead we’re here, and now there’s zero chance of anyone even needing supplies and coming for us because they’re ALL BUSY FIGHTING and dying and we’re just SITTING here-”

“We’re not actually sitting…”

“On our asses, like a couple of useless idiots, and SAM is up there Cas, he’s a fucking 7th year, do you know what they’re like? They think they know EVERYthing, but they’ve never been in the real world, they don’t really know their wand from their asshole, and I should be _protecting_ him, Cas, Cas, I’ll never forgive myself if-”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure this is one of the first rooms they’ll open back up...”

“And that’s not even getting into the REST of the kids up there, they’re just KIDS, Cas, it’s our job to protect them, it’s MY job, and what do I do? Get myself locked in a fucking closet the ONE time they actually need me and  the ONLY person who can get me out might already be dead and-”

“Dean.”

“I’ll never forgive myself, my dad would be so fucking disappointed if he could see me now, oh god, Cas-”

“DEAN,” Cas repeats, but this time he grabs Dean by the front of his robes and shoves him up against the shelving, which causes it to rattle and shake several bottles loose. They fall and smash on the ground by Dean’s feet, but Dean hardly notices because Castiel’s lips are on his. He’s frozen for a moment, but then he’s reciprocating, hands coming up to clasp Castiel’s face and provide him leverage to nudge his lips open and swipe his tongue and -

“Wait,” Dean protests, wrenching away. He gestures helplessly towards the door. “What about… everyone,” he pleads weakly, but Castiel just shakes his head and steps forward into Dean’s space again.

“There’s nothing we can do for them, Dean. We’re not cowards or deserters, we didn’t come here with the intention of getting locked in, and there is _no way_ to get out until someone lifts the enchantment from the other side.” Castiel pauses and looks down, to where he’s taken Dean’s hand in his own. “Up there… when they were talking about this battle, and what’s to come... “ He stops suddenly and raises his eyes to meet Dean’s. “I don’t want to have regrets. And Dean, I already regret not doing this sooner.” He leans in and touches his lips to Dean’s softly, a question and not a demand.

Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I’m scared, Cas,” he admits softly. “I don’t want it all to end like this.”

Castiel squeezes Dean’s hands, and Dean goes willingly into his arms when he opens them. “I promise, this will not be all we get,” he says before kissing Dean again.

“Okay,” Dean murmurs against his lips. “Okay.”

“Besides,” Castiel continues, and he can’t hold back a smile, “You promised me once that you wouldn’t let me die a virgin.” He laughs and Dean scowls. “Last night on earth, right?”

“Not a funny joke right now, Cas,” Dean scolds, but he can’t resist the smile in Castiel’s eyes, the one that’s always been there only for him, so he takes Castiel in his arms and moves to make good on his promise.

Three floors above them, the battle rages on.


	8. ROCKSTAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: ROCKSTAR  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: EXPLICIT
> 
> It's rock god Dean Winchester's wedding day, but no one knows who his fiance is!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Extra reminder for explicit sexual content!
> 
> Now with art/manips at the end! Courtesy of the lovely @naruhearts :-*

THIS FIC HAS MOVED! It is now the first installment of the “Rock You” verse, a series of timestamps showcasing Rockstar Dean Winchester and his quiet boyfriend/fiancé/husband Castiel’s secret relationship over the years, starting with the day they came out to the world- their wedding day.

[ROCK YOU Part 1: Nice Day for a White Wedding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297559)


	9. PROHIBITION/1920'S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: PROHIBITION/1920'S  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: MATURE (sexual content)
> 
> Dean was just trying to sell his whiskey. He wasn't counting on Castiel.

"The Milk Run"

_ Atlantic City, July 1927 _

Dean hadn’t meant to stay. He’d only been at Francis Renault’s club on business. He wasn’t a pansy - not that there was anything  _ wrong _ with that (unless you asked Dean’s father, that is) but Dean liked the ladies, was actually  _ known _ around town for just how much he liked them. He was a  _ man’s  _ man, just ask anyone. This trip was supposed to be a simple business transaction; Dean was delivering barrels of whiskey and gin, doing his part to supply the backbone of New Jersey’s social scene with illegal spirits and fun, government be damned. In fact, he really  _ shouldn’t  _ still be here, since if any narc were to be watching, he could be putting the entire family business, his father, his brother, and himself in danger. The fact that he hadn’t been arrested yet didn’t really mean much, they could easily be watching him to see where he would go or what he would do. 

So why didn’t he just leave? Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and paced the boardwalk outside of the Renault club. He was actually turning away to take off when the door to the club opened and he was reminded. Castiel didn’t look like he had an hour earlier. When Dean’s attention had been captured from clear across the room, it was by a beautiful figure in a sequined dress with dark, perfectly coiffed hair, heavy makeup, and bright, ocean-blue eyes. Dean wasn’t naive - he knew exactly where he was and was more than aware that the blue-eyed creature was not actually a woman. But that didn’t stop him from sitting down with a drink to watch the show, or from staring openly and unabashedly, and though he’d deny it if anyone asked, it didn’t stop him from getting at least half hard when the object of his interest came over and sat on his lap. And it didn’t stop him from asking for a name, or for suggesting  _ Castiel _ meet him outside after his show was over. Dean couldn’t put what he was feeling into words, but he felt a pull towards Castiel that he’d never felt before. He wondered if the drag queen felt the same.

He was surprised at his own realization that he hoped Castiel showing up to meet him meant that he did. 

And while Dean would love to pretend that his initial attraction to the man was predicated on the misconception that he was a woman, even Dean is just a little too self-aware to pull that off. Though if he wasn’t, he’d certainly be receiving a reality check right about now. Because the blue-eyed beauty looking at him uncertainly as he made his way through the club doors was  _ all _ man. Gone were the sequins, the furs, the makeup, and the wig, replaced by long shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, tan forearms, and a fitted waistcoat that accentuated a broad, masculine chest and a narrow waist. But his hair was still dark and sex-mussed from the wig, his lips were still plush and pink, and those eyes - still beautifully ocean-blue, still kind, still drawing Dean deeper in a way he felt wholly unprepared for. 

Castiel approached Dean slowly, almost as if he were a skittish animal. “Hello,” he started, and then hesitated. “I wasn’t sure if you realized…” his words seemed to get stuck in his mouth, and he gestured up and down his body, averting his eyes. For some reason, this nervous version of Castiel, that was so opposite who he was in drag, endeared Dean to him further. He actually had to shove down the premature desire to take the man in his arms and assure him that he liked  _ everything _ he’d seen so far. Instead, he chose to close the space between them and take Castiel by the hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing his knuckles as he’d once seen gentlemen do in a Nickelodeon. “Lookin’ good, Cas,” he smiled, and Castiel smiled shyly back. Dean pulled a flask out of his inner jacket pocket and offered it to Castiel. “Come sit with me?” 

Castiel nodded and held onto Dean’s hand as they walked across the wooden planks of the Boardwalk and down the steps to the beach. He had to let go to pull off his shoes and socks when they reached the sand, but Dean followed suit and like they’d done it a hundred times before, once they were holding their shoes their free hands came back together like magnets. They walked most of the way towards the water and then sat down, perhaps a bit closer than would be considered simply friendly, and Dean didn’t mind at all. They talked and laughed and shared Dean’s whiskey, and the conversation flowed freely. After some time, feeling tipsy and brave, Dean closed the space between them and captured Castiel’s lips in a kiss, and though his eyes were closed, he could feel the other man’s smile. 

Emboldened, Dean pulled away and stood, stripping off his shirt and stepping out of his pants. With a backward glance and a wink at Castiel, he ran towards the darkened surf and dove in, coming up sputtering. The water was warm enough since it was July, but it wasn’t  _ warm.  _ Fortunately, the chill was quickly forgotten when Dean ended up with an armful of Castiel, warm and solid and  _ naked _ and wrapping his limbs around Dean. Buoyed by the ocean, they drifted and rocked together, talking quietly and exchanging presses of mouths to lips and to each other’s skin, hands wandering more and more as time went on. Dean felt himself growing hard, not in small part due to the feel of Castiel doing the same up against his belly. Never having done this before, it wasn’t like he couldn’t figure out the mechanics of it, and Castiel’s low, pleased sigh when Dean wrapped a hand around them both was more than enough to reaffirm his decision to  _ do this. _ Between the waves and Castiel sliding against him, and whatever it was that was passing between their intense gazes, it didn’t take long for Dean to bring them both off, kissing Castiel hot and opened-mouthed-sloppy as they came back down.

Lacking towels, they had to put their clothes back on still wet but it hardly dampened the mood. Glances were stolen and smiles were shared, and Dean had no idea how he’d gotten from being a confident heterosexual man performing a business transaction to  _ here _ in less than one night. But he found that he wasn’t sorry, and he wasn’t even scared. He took Castiel’s hand as they walked back up the beach, unconcerned of who might see. He kissed his knuckles again, and Castiel smiled. Dean found he had no regrets.


	10. MASHUP (MYTHOLOGY/COFFEE SHOP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: MASHUP (MYTHOLOGY/COFFEE SHOP )  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: G  
> NOTES: This is part 2/2, continued from Day 4 "MYTHOLOGY", aka the Dr. Who/Man in the Moon story.

“Man Out of Time” 

(Part 2/2, Cont. from Day 4)

Castiel stood at the open door of the Tardis, looking out at the Universe swirling beyond. The colors and movement of the nebulas reminded him of the time he’d visited one of his siblings who was living near Earth’s northern pole. The Northern Lights had been spectacular from the ground, even to a God who had seen most of time and Creation. It wasn’t that Castiel wasn’t happy here with Dean, on the contrary, he didn’t think he’d ever been happier. It’s just that sometimes,  _ sometimes _ , he missed his Moon. He missed his siblings, who almost certainly didn’t miss him, and the quiet solitude of his coffee shop that never had any visitors. But Dean was understanding, and kind. Castiel knew he could ask to return home at any time, and that Dean would take him. But as time went on - whatever “time” meant here in the Tardis- Castiel found it more and more difficult to imagine his life without Dean in it.

His most pressing concern these days, was that being away from the Moon, and the people of Earth who worshipped him, had left his power apparently waning. Not that he’d been  _ really _ powerful for several centuries, but living on the atmosphere-less, resource-less moon did require a certain minimal magical subsistence. The longer he stayed away, the more he felt… mortal. He was beginning to require sleep, food, and the maintenance of personal hygiene on a regular basis. And while waking up wrapped in Dean’s arms held an undeniable sort of charm, and certain foods were enjoyable in the moment, the rest of it was, to put it mildly, less than desirable. So Castiel knew that he would have to make a decision soon before the deterioration of his god-status became irreversible.

Regardless of the path he chose, Castiel wanted it to be just that -  _ his choice _ , not something that was forced upon him due to a lack of other options. And for that matter, not something that was foisted upon  _ Dean _ . He couldn’t force himself on Dean for the rest of his theoretically mortal life (how long could a human live out of time, anyway?) without knowing for sure that Dean truly wanted him, and wasn’t simply being tolerant of his presence knowing he couldn’t return to the Moon. Castiel supposed if all else failed and Dean ended up not really wanting him after he became mortal, he could go live with one of his siblings. He’s reasonably sure Gabriel (aka the Norse God Loki) was making his way in the world while passing as human fairly successfully. Perhaps he could open a slightly busier coffee shop.

But if he’s being honest, he  _ wants _ Dean to want him. He wants Dean to want him to stay. He just has to make sure that’s truly the case. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to wait long to find out. While Castiel is admiring the view, he hears the Tardis fire up and Dean moving around behind him. Dean tells Castiel that he’s caught wind of a rift in space/time that has no business being open, and they set off for a planet several galaxies away. As it turns out, the rift was opened by a creature who was simply trying to reach their love trapped on the other side. Together, Castiel and Dean manage to reunite the lovers and close the rift before it could, as Dean put it, “expand and swallow the whole of existence.” All-in-all, it was fairly anti-climactic, but as Castiel watched the lovers’ reunion, he felt Dean’s eyes on him the entire time.

Back inside the Tardis, Dean hesitates over the controls. His mouth opens and closes a few times as if he’s searching for something to say, but nothing comes out. Finally, he shakes his head and moves to pilot the phone booth away, but Castiel stops him.

Castiel puts his hand gently on Dean’s arm, tilting his head to the side and fixing him with an intense stare. “Dean?” He prods, making it clear with his body language that he’s not letting the Time Lord off the hook.

“It’s all good, Cas,” Dean replies after a moment, with a falsely cheery smile. Castiel narrows his eyes and steps closer, encouraging Dean to turn and face him, to meet his eyes. When he does, Dean sighs like he’s been caught. “What I want to say is selfish, Cas,” he admits hesitantly.

Castiel’s eyes widen, and he steps even closer, definitively invading Dean’s personal space, and gripping his arm tightly. “Say it,” he demands.

“Cas, come on,” he pleads, averting his eyes. “Let me go. Places to go, people to save, remember?” Castiel drops Dean’s arm and looks away.

“I wouldn’t presume that I could make you do something you weren’t interested in doing,” he says sadly. “But, I wish you would tell me.” His tone gets Dean’s attention, and the Time Lord reluctantly stops pressing buttons to turn to his companion.

He takes a deep breath. “Stay,” he says, in a rush. “Stay with me, “ he adds and then hesitates. “That is… I mean, if you want to. I know we haven’t… it’s not been that long. But I want you to. Stay with me, that is.”

Castiel’s smile is brighter than any star Dean has ever encountered when he says yes. “We don’t have anywhere to be  _ right _ now, do we?” Dean shakes his head and lets Castiel lead him to bed.


	11. ENDVERSE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: ENDVERSE (EPISODE 5.04 "THE END")  
> WARNINGS: MCD (NOT DESTIEL)  
> RATING: TEEN  
> NOTES: This is a ret-con for the end of "The End." I personally believe the Endverse was an alternate timeline, and exists independently of "our" SPN verse. So this is me giving the Dean and Cas of that timeline their happy-ish ending. The episode quote at the beginning indicates where the story picks up within the episode.

“To the Bitter End”

 

 _Future Dean: “Take a look around you, man. This place should be white-hot with Croats. Where are they?”_   
_Dean: “They cleared a path for us. Which means that this is—”_   
_Future Dean: “A trap. Exactly.”_   
_Dean: “Well, then we can't go through the front.”_   
_Future Dean: “Oh, we're not. They are. They're the decoys. You and me, we're going in through the back.”_ _  
_ Dean: “You mean you're gonna feed your friends into a meat grinder? Cas, too? You want to use their deaths as a diversion?”

 

Future Dean hesitates, looking around. “Oh man, something is broken in you. I would never-” Dean starts, but his future self cuts him off.

“You’re right, _you_ wouldn’t. This is a war, Dean. Sacrifices have to be made,” He hesitates as if he’s not sure whether he should continue. “But no, not Cas. Cas is in on this plan. In fact, he came up with it.”

Dean takes a step closer. “Cas is _in on_ the plan where he’s being sacrificed for the greater good? Man, how could-”

Future Dean shakes his head. “No, no. Cas isn’t going in with them. He’s our backup. He’s our Plan B.”

“Plan B?”

  
“Yea, asshole. You didn’t think I’d really run this mission without one, did you?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Honestly? I’m not sure what to make of most of the decisions I’ve seen you make.”

Future Dean nods, a little regretfully. “Yea… I get that. But you of all people? _You_ should know that I couldn’t do that to Cas.” His voice actually softens then, the kindest Dean has heard it since his arrival. “Not when he’s all I got left.” He sniffs and wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Anyway. Time to rock. Stay close to me.”

The decoy team moves in and shortly after, copious gunfire can be heard from inside the rundown building. Dean crouches beside his double, Castiel off somewhere around the other side of the building. It’s hard to tell what exactly Future Dean is waiting for, but all of a sudden he seems to hear whatever it is, and he gets to his feet. “Let’s go,” he orders, pulling the Colt out and cocking it. They take off, Dean hurrying to keep up until they round the side of the building and are stopped dead in their tracks.

“Sammy,” Dean chokes out and Future Dean glares at him.

“That’s not Sam,” he says, as he raises the Colt and fires without hesitation. Lucifer disappears and the bullet hits the wall of the building. Just like that, Lucifer is behind Future Dean, and Dean has to watch helplessly as his double is flung like a rag doll halfway across the garden.

Future Dean lands with an “Oomph,” and a groan as he grabs his shoulder, but he isn’t even slowed- rolling to standing and firing at Lucifer again, enough times to empty the revolver chambers. A couple of the bullets actually hit their mark, though Dean gets the distinct impression that this only happens because Lucifer allows it. A demonstration of sorts. _You cannot win._ Dean drops the empty Colt to the ground, and for a moment looks like he’s actually preparing to fight Lucifer hand-to-hand, but then he turns slightly and yells, “CAS! CASTIEL!”

Castiel appears instantly from around the side of the building, looking exactly the same physically as the last time Dean saw him except that he’s emanating a confidence- an _aura_ that makes Dean swallow because it’s _almost_ like having his own Castiel back in front of him. Cas’ face is set, determined, his posture is tall and sure. He looks strong. He looks like an angel. He’s striding quickly towards Lucifer as Dean pulls a lighter out, snaps it, and tosses it down to the ground, activating a circle of holy fire and trapping Lucifer within.

At that moment, Zachariah appears at Past Dean’s side, looking furious. “This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen,” he growls. “It’s time for us to go.” He places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and they blink out of sight.

Lucifer raises his eyebrows at the display. “Well, that was interesting… but enough distractions.” He turns his attention back to the current time period’s Dean and Castiel, and lifts his hand to snap his fingers. “But this has grown boring. I think I’ll-”

He’s cut off as Castiel rattles off a short incantation and throws a molotov-cocktail-style spell into the circle of Holy Fire that explodes at Lucifer’s feet. Presumably, the archangel attempts to move, but he’s frozen in place, his (Sam’s) face dark and stormy and the only clue to his inner rage. “How long will it last, Cas?” Dean calls from across the garden.

“Hopefully long enough,” Castiel replies and launches fearlessly into an angel exorcism. _“Omni potentis Dei potestatem invoco, omni potentis Dei potestatem invoco, abrogo terra, hoc angelorum in obse quentum, Domine expuere, Domine expuere, unde abeo Dei, exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegro… Lustra! Lustra!”_

 

***

_Eighteen hours earlier..._

Castiel lay curled around Dean in their bed, stripped down and bare to each other’s wandering hands. “So… where did you say past you went for the night? He’s very clearly _pre_ -you-and-me-Dean Winchester, wouldn’t want him to walk in and be scarred for life.”

Dean snorted. “He could use a little toughening up.” Castiel flicks his nipple, and Dean snatches his wrist in retaliation, quickly grabbing the other as well and then rolling over so that Cas is forced onto his back with both hands pressed to the bed above his head. Dean raises his eyebrows as he fits himself between Castiel’s legs. “Don’t be a dick,” he says, and Cas smirks.

“I thought you like when I’m _a dick,_ Dean,” he replies, pushing lightly against Dean’s body, testing Dean’s grip. He bites his lip and flexes his hips against Dean’s. “Are you going to teach me a lesson, Fearless Leader?” Dean shoots him a glare, but releases his wrists and flops down onto his back again.

“I fucking should,” he grunts. “I owe you, after that little orgy stunt you pulled earlier. You’re damn lucky _he_ walked in instead of me, or you wouldn’t have been able to sit for a week.”

“Mmm,” Castiel says, stretching and arching his back provocatively, which Dean _definitely_ doesn’t watch with interest. “Promises, promises.” It’s quiet for a moment, and Castiel is on the verge of drifting off when Dean speaks again.

“Come here,” he says quietly, holding out his arm. Castiel shuffles over and drapes a leg over both of Dean’s, settling his chin on Dean’s chest and his arm over his abdomen. “Thank you,” Dean adds softly, uncharacteristically subdued. Castiel knows him well enough not to push, instead choosing to trace arcane symbols onto Dean’s skin while he waits for Dean to come to him. Dean always does. “I’m at a loss, Cas,” he sighs. “This plan… what if the Colt doesn’t work?” Castiel touches Dean’s face with the tips of his fingers, gently turning it to face him.  

“Do you trust me?”

Dean nods. “You know that I do.”

“Then trust me to have your back. I’ll be right behind you, just like we talked about. You call for me, and I’ll be there.”

“You always come when I call,” Dean whispers, bringing his hand up to stroke the side of Castiel’s face. Castiel turns his head to kiss Dean’s fingers.

“Always,” he replies. “I’ll prep the garden before everyone else goes in. Lucifer is dramatic, and that garden is the only thing flourishing within a five-mile radius of that place. Without question, that’s where he’ll find you. I’ll mark the middle of the circle with an X, two sticks. I already have the freezing spell prepared. If it works, it’ll give us a few minutes to try the exorcism Alastair tried to use on me.”

Dean lets his thumb trail down Castiel’s lightly bearded jawline and over his lips. Castiel sucks it into his mouth when Dean presses lightly at the seam. His eyes track the movement. “Is it enough?” Dean asks quietly. “What if we aren’t?”

“Then we did what we could do. But no matter what happens, I’ll be by your side Dean. In this life, and the next one. Whatever that may mean.”

They stare into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, and then Dean pulls Castiel on top of him so that he’s straddling his hips. “Here we are again, Cas. Last night on earth, what are your plans?”

Castiel smiles wide and content, leaning down to kiss Dean deeply. “Fucking you into the mattress,” he replies against Dean’s lips with a chuckle. “If you’re amenable.” Dean just spreads his legs and tosses Castiel a bottle of lube.

“What are you waiting for?”

 

***

 _“What are you waiting for?!”_ Dean screams as Lucifer glows and glows, brighter and brighter as Castiel recites the incantation, but he doesn’t flame out. “Get out! Get the fuck out of him!”

Castiel finishes his chanting with a flourish and for a moment, it seems like nothing is going to happen, but then the blue angelic light seems to crescendo on its own, blasting violently out of Sam and off to Chuck knows where, hopefully Hell. The Holy Fire goes out as Sam’s lifeless body crashes to the ground, and Dean runs to catch him.

Sam doesn’t survive, but Dean is surprisingly accepting of it. He’d made his peace with Sam’s death years ago. After all, for a long time, it was well-known to be the best case scenario for him. Dean and Castiel bring Sam’s body back to Camp Chitaqua and give him a proper hunter’s funeral, salting and burying the ashes from the pyre in a marked grave right next to Bobby’s so they can never be desecrated or used in a perversion of Sam again. They know the fight isn’t over. Lucifer is still out there somewhere. But Sam is free, and Lucifer is without his true vessel. What this means for the Apocalypse is unclear, but there’s hope where previously there was none. _Dean_ has hope. He glances sideways at Castiel as they walk back to their cabin, a place that 24 hours ago he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. He reaches out to take Castiel’s hand, and it all feels like coming home. They were going to be okay. They could face whatever was coming next. They could save the world. They had each other. And if that was all they had left, it was more than enough.


	12. DAY 12: COWBOY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: COWBOY  
> WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT  
> RATING: EXPLICIT  
> NOTES: pornstar and soulmate AU... with cowboy gear lol  
> Part (1/2) TBC on MASHUP day 20!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's soulmark tattoo:

“Aquarius (Part1/2)”

Dean is never going to apologize for liking porn. Loving porn, really. He’s the kind of guy who will make a night of watching a new video from his favorite porn star - couple fingers of whiskey on the bedside table, new sheets, the  _ good _ lube, his favorite dildo. He’ll open himself up nice and slow, really taking his time with it. Adding one finger at a time until he’s up to three, stretching and tugging on his rim as he goes. Rolling his balls between the fingers of his other hand, running it over his chest and stopping to squeeze a nipple, letting his cock become rock-hard and purple, leaking all over his stomach. And of course, the Urban Cowboys’ website up on his laptop, his favorite pornstar  _ Castiel _ filling his screen.

Castiel is Urban Cowboys’ darling, most likely one of the main draws for the site. His face is plastered on the header, seconds away from orgasm as a faceless beefcake takes him from behind. Applying his search filter displays a wide variety of videos, from the expected vanilla stuff to gangbangs and even a few fetish films. Dean has seen them  _ all _ \- more than once. And, not that he’d admit it, but it’s the romance ones that really get him going. The guy is shockingly tender with his partners, and Dean would do just about anything to be on the receiving end of his affections. It doesn’t help that Castiel’s appearance is Dean’s ultimate wet dream come to life. Dark, messy hair that Dean suspects would look just-fucked all the time even if he weren’t a literal pornstar. Cut, chiseled jawline perpetually covered in sexy stubble, thick biceps and thighs just the right side of muscular, sharp hip bones under tanned and gorgeous skin straight off of a holiday beach, and a perfect, deliciously thick and cut cock, probably eight inches or so inches long, and just looking at it makes Dean’s mouth water. That entire package, clad in cowboy boots, a Stetson and nothing else? Men have committed atrocities in the name of far lesser beauties.

The  _ only _ thing that can ruin one of Dean’s sessions with his on-screen angel is catching sight of his own soulmark. He’s never been interested in seeking out his other half, finding it impossible to believe in predetermination or that any kind of cosmic force could possibly match him with someone he’d even  _ like, _ never mind want to tie himself to for eternity. Most of the time, he simply doesn’t think about the little constellation of stars on his wrist. He never has. In fact, he was so disinterested in the mark as a child that he hadn’t even realized that a constellation was what it was. When they were teens, his little brother Sam had finally gotten fed up and traced it onto a piece of paper while Dean was sleeping. He then scoured the internet until he was able to identify it as the star sign known as Aquarius. That was all well and good, but what Sam had done next still burns Dean up to this day. His well-meaning little brother had posted on a  _ message board _ (in the astronomy/astrology section of course, the nerd) for people seeking their soulmates.

The worst part? Someone had responded. They’d sent a picture of a perfectly matching tattoo, and a short message indicating that they would love to talk. Dean can admit that looking back, he didn’t handle the situation as well as he maybe should have when Sam came to show him the reply. Blinded by his anger at Sam’s overstep, he had railed at the younger boy and then shot off a hotheaded, nasty reply to “ [ jimmynovak8@hotmail.com ](mailto:jimmynovak8@hotmail.com) ”. He did feel a bit badly about it later, he figured this Jimmy dude was probably a really nice guy, but that didn’t mean that Dean was going to let some cosmic force dictate his life. He ended up caving to his guilt slightly and sending an apology email for his harsh words, but no reply ever came. Years later, Dean had tried to look up “Jimmy Novak,” just for kicks ( _ not _ that he believed in soulmates, he absolutely didn’t), and was able to link that old email address to a man with the given name “James,” a couple years older than him who grew up in Pontiac, Illinois. Dean tried to keep track of him but the man dropped completely off of the map in his twenties. Like, completely. No sign of him  _ any _ where, doing anything. Whoever “James Novak” was, he had seemed to poof straight out of existence. Not that Dean really cares, but he’s always kind of wondered what happened to the guy. Because he’s curious. Absolutely no other reason.

Point being, seeing his soulmark in the middle of fantasizing about Castiel is, for some reason, an insane boner-killer. Part of that might be because Castiel himself guards his own soulmark like some sort of state secret. It’s never appeared in a video, and believe Dean - he’s looked, wondering who the lucky person that matched with Castiel is. If Dean’s being honest, he feels a spark of jealousy when he thinks about Castiel’s soulmate existing out there and isn’t that bizarre? It’s not like Castiel could ever be  _ his  _ soulmate, and even if he was, Dean  _ doesn’t want that. _ Right? So what demonic entity possess him to scrutinize Castiel’s pancake-makeup or bracelet or costume-covered right wrist any time it appears in a frame? Dean has no idea.

And this is one of those days. Great. He’s drifted off into his thoughts while staring at his wrist, and now he’s flaccid and there’s a vibrating dildo half in his ass. Dean makes a half-hearted attempt to get back in the mood, but it’s just not happening so he sits up and wipes off. He’s about to close out of the Urban Cowboys site when he sees something that catches his eye. Every so often, Urban Cowboys “spotlights” one of their stars. They’ll run a full profile and interview available only to subscribers, probably designed to make ugly internet creepers feel like they’re getting more than just a show. Dean’s never paid much attention to them before, since he’s really only interested in Castiel. The other guys are pretty, but they’re just muscles and dicks. There’s just  _ something _ about Castiel’s big blue eyes that lure Dean in like a siren. Though he guesses he’s probably one of a few thousand men who frequent this site and would say the same thing (and that thought definitely does  _ not _ make Dean feel weirdly possessive and jealous. God, he needs to get out more).

Except for this month, they’re highlighting  _ him. _ Dean can’t click on the link fast enough. The video loads and there is Castiel, giving an interview in a grey Stetson and tiny denim shorts, his perfectly tanned and muscled chest on display. He smiles a lot as he answers superficial questions about his likes and dislikes. Dean turns up the volume and enjoys listening to Castiel talk instead of moan for once. His deep, gravelly voice is sexy as hell in bed, but something about this endears him to Dean even more. Dean’s mind starts to wander a little bit because Castiel’s arm muscles started flexing a little, but his ears perk up as he hears the interviewer say the word “soulmark.”

“...go to great lengths to cover up your soulmark and it has your fans wondering, are you embarrassed? Is it for your soulmate’s privacy? What’s the story there.” Dean knows Castiel’s face, has been studying it for over a year in the throes of passion, and he sees the little flicker of sadness come across his eyes. Castiel hesitates in his reply, and the interviewer offers him an out, but he shakes his head.

“Yes,” he says, “I… prefer to cover my soulmark. I encountered my soulmate at a young age, and... it didn’t work out. It’s a sad reminder for me. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed, but society would have us believe that all soulmate matches are perfect, and unfortunately, I am a living example of how that just is not true. It’s natural for people to be interested in failed soul connections, but it’s not something that I care to discuss or be reminded of, so I keep it hidden. This is the first that I’ve ever discussed it, beyond my family and a few close friends.”

“Why now?” The interviewer asks, not unkindly, and Castiel shrugs.

“I suppose I’ve reached the age where I don’t care anymore,” he says, but Dean thinks he’s lying. His eyes look sorrowful, despite the smile he has plastered on. “Would you like to see it?” Castiel goes to pull the bracelet off of his arm, and Dean finds himself holding his breath, though he has no idea why. Half of him can’t wait to try and google to figure out who the asshole is that turned down  _ Castiel _ , and half of him never wants to know.

Castiel removes the bracelet and turns his wrist towards the camera.

Aquarius. 

 


	13. DAY 13: REVERSE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: REVERSE  
> WARNINGS: MCD, DARK!FIC, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, TORTURE, DUB-CON  
> RATING: EXPLICIT  
> NOTES: OK so this is NOT a nice fic! I'm not a huge fan of the typical reverse!verse (hunter!cas/angel!dean), so I did a different sort of reverse - King of Hell!Dean and Demon!Castiel. It's canon-verse; the opposite essentially of what most people would expect to happen after Dean's death (Dean goes to heaven, Castiel follows him, they live happily ever after for eternity). The Dub-con is because I'm not sure Castiel can fully consent, after what Dean does to him, though I do think it's pretty clear that he's not opposed. The MCD is SAM. Again this is DARK. there are adult themes, graphic content, and characters behaving badly - Dean has a history of being a torturer, and he goes right back to it. So PLEASE, consider the warnings before reading.

“Forever”

Castiel’s loyalty to the former Righteous Man was eternal. If it had only been suspected or assumed while Dean Winchester was alive, it was certainly proven in death. No one, human or otherwise, was surprised when Castiel followed Dean into the afterlife, probably because they were too busy being surprised that Dean himself hadn’t come back this time, but _many_ were shocked at the events that followed. After all, an angel helming Hell hadn’t occurred since the Morningstar himself, nor had it ever been anticipated to happen again. But neither did anyone expect that the Righteous Man’s soul would end up in Hell, where he would go on to claim his natural right as Alastair’s protégée to rule over the Pit, and then claw his way through blood and bone to assume the throne of Hell itself. Some might have expected Castiel to stand in his way, as his brother certainly tried, but for whatever reason, that didn’t happen.

There’s still water-cooler talk amongst demons about how it all went down, but everyone seems to agree on one thing - Castiel went willingly. As the story goes, Castiel had spent almost a century in Hell-time scouring Heaven for any sign of Dean’s soul before being tipped off to his actual location. After that, he’d had to find a way into and then fight his way through the entirety of Hell before reaching the Pit. So by the time he’d made his way there, Dean had been off the rack for decades, already widely feared and ruling with a blood-soaked fist. The details of Castiel’s time in Heaven and subsequent journey across Hell vary through the telling, but everyone who was in the throne room of the Pit the day he finally arrived tells the same story.

They all describe how Castiel swept in, all heavenly fury and burning grace, white wings arching high and eyes glowing. How Dean, sprawled casually across his inky black throne with his black eyes and the mockery of wings twisted and cascading over the chair’s sides, smirked and held up a single finger to halt his army of minions from approaching Castiel. How the entire room, saving Dean, braced for a fight that never came because Castiel stood in front of the Ruler of the Pit for only a moment before dropping to his knees, lowering his wings into a submissive posture, and directing his gaze to the floor. They’ll recount how Dean Winchester, once Righteous Man and now Ruler of the Pit, grinned and ordered his best friend and angel of the Lord to be put upon the rack. And how Castiel went without protest, after first shedding his trench coat and leaving it on the floor at Dean’s feet like some kind of offering.

What everyone agrees Dean _didn’t_ do was let anyone touch Castiel but him, nor did he let anyone watch his process, so the particulars of Castiel’s torture and reshaping remain a matter of gossip and speculation. While Castiel’s screams rang out through every shadowy corner of the Pit, no one dared to try and steal a glimpse after the first demons who did had their entrails pulled out through their mouths and nailed to the walls by Dean himself. But details or not, there was no question as to what it was that Dean was attempting. The Pit’s leader spent months relentlessly ripping the angel apart and putting him back together in his own image, and when Castiel emerged fresh off the rack, that’s exactly what he was. _Dean’s_ . And if the angel had been devoted to Dean before, then now, stripped to the bones and freed from any burdens, doubts, and obligations he had carried in life, he was made _devout_. He worshipped at the altar of Dean, he carried out his will without question. And in return, Castiel was the only thing Dean seemed to truly care about. Whatever it was they were unable to have in life, they had found a twisted, yet satisfying perversion of here in Hell.

Castiel wasn’t a demon, but he certainly wasn’t an angel any longer. His wings had blackened and his grace had been twisted beyond recognition into something dark and seethingly powerful, brought out only as a weapon in Dean’s name. His eyes shifted constantly and apparently beyond his control from ocean blue to black, an unnerving reminder of the abomination that he’d chosen to become. He was constantly at Dean’s right, most often found sitting by the throne of the Pit with Dean’s hand in his hair, that is, if he wasn’t being fucked by Dean on the throne room floor. That was how the one and only rescue party of angels had found him, on his back and gripping Dean’s shoulder so hard that it bled as Dean moaned and thrust inside him, the giant doors to the throne room bursting open unexpectedly. As several angels had spilled in, weapons drawn and calling his name, Castiel had lazily turned onto all fours, guiding Dean back inside of him and pushing up so that they were kneeling chest to back. He reached backward with both hands and gripped Dean’s neck from the back, pulling them flush together as Dean continued to fuck him, unperturbed by their visitors. Castiel unabashedly made eye contact with the only angel he recognized, Duma, as he drew on his gnarled, perverted grace, Dean’s power and by proxy, the power of the Pit itself, exploding the rest of the angels with just a thought and painting the walls with their vessels innards. Duma had stood there, shell-shocked and rooted to the floor, angel blade slipping from her hand so she could indicate surrender.

 _“Go,”_ Castiel had hissed, “Before I change my mind. Tell them what you saw here and that any further angelic presence in Hell will be taken as an invitation for me to reclaim Heaven in Dean’s name.” Duma didn’t even stop to retrieve her dropped angel blade as she scattered. When Dean’s minions stormed the throne room in anticipation of battling the angels, they instead found Dean and Castiel, naked and covered in blood spatter, Castiel laughing maniacally as Dean pounds into him from behind. They stumble in just in time to see Dean grab Castiel’s cock and make him come all over himself with a half-laugh and a choked off moan.

And so it came as no surprise when shortly after that Dean’s armies crawled forth from the Pit itself to overtake Hell as a whole. With Castiel firmly by his side (and often between his legs), the hoard of demons were lead by Dean himself, and between the terrifying sight they made and word of mouth regarding his and “the fallen angel’s” combined power, they met little resistance along their way. However, the one being in all the world who couldn’t be intimidated into kowtowing to Dean was _still_ a simple human man. A human man with connections and resources most humans couldn’t dream of though, which is how Sam Winchester came to be the only thing standing between the throne of Hell and his older brother.

Every demon in the room had been around long enough to have heard stories or even seen in person how the Winchester drama had always played out, so one couldn’t blame them for expecting Dean to back down or “hug it out” with Sam. But those who did had sorely underestimated how little of the old Dean there was left because that isn’t what happened. Not even close. After exchanging some pleasantries and banter that might have misled any onlookers to think Dean still had a soft spot for his little brother, Dean gave Sam exactly one chance to turn around and go home, which he, of course, did not take, before inclining his head at Castiel.

“Cas,” Sam pleaded as the former angel advanced on him, dark eyes glittering and hard. “You don’t have to do this man, he doesn’t own you.”

Dean laughed and motioned for Castiel to pause. “But I _do_ own him, Sammy. I _made_ him. He’d do anything for me, want to see?” Dean put a finger in his mouth and made a sucking motion, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No need to be crass, Dean,” Castiel said darkly, not taking his eyes off of Sam. “He does own me. I am his. What I am, he couldn’t take if I had not given it freely.” Sam looked horrified, but Dean didn’t give him a chance to respond. He nodded Castiel onward and smirked as the former angel slit Sam’s throat. Castiel watched with disinterest as the life bled out of a man he once would have called family. But before his brother is even cold, Dean steps up and over his lifeless body to ascend to the throne of Hell, pulling Castiel with him by the wrist. The first time he takes his seat, it’s with Castiel to his literal right, perched on the arm of the chair with Dean’s arm around his waist. The message to his subjects is clear; Castiel and the power of the throne are all that matter to Dean anymore.

Presumably, Sam’s soul goes to Heaven, as he never turns up in Hell. If Castiel were still capable of contemplating anything beyond _Dean_ , he would have thought that was the ultimate in irony. The Righteous Man and the Angel ruling Hell while the soul of the Boy King resides forever in Paradise. But Castiel doesn’t think about Sam at all, and Dean never mentions him again.

Dean Winchester, former Righteous Man and now-King of Hell, rules uncontested for millennia. Castiel never strays from his side. Castiel’s loyalty is forever.

 


	14. DAY 14: DISNEY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: DISNEY  
> WARNINGS: EXPLICIT GAY SEX  
> RATING: EXPLICIT
> 
> NOTES: This is actually a snapshot of a future fic I intend to write that's basically a Destiel-AU of "The Last Man on Earth" aka, recent apocalypse where everyone dies but everything hasn't gone to shit yet (resource-wise). No zombies or supernatural, just Cas and Dean being the (almost) last men on Earth, and their adventures in this post-apocalyptic world. If you' enjoy this idea and would like to see more, let me know in the comments!

"Happiest Place on Earth"

THIS FIC HAS MOVED

Visit it at its new home, where it will become a series! 

CLICK

  ⬇️ ⬇️  ⬇️ 

[LAST MEN ON EARTH](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404725/chapters/38402096)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the kind of RV I imagine them tooling around in:
> 
> [Dean and Cas' Luxury RV](https://www.newmarcorp.com/luxury-motor-coaches/king-aire/)
> 
>  
> 
> Nice, right?! He'd have to haul around a generator too, but that seems prudent anyway.


	15. DAY 15: MAFIA/COP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: MAFIA/COP  
> WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING (NON-EXPLICIT), IMPLIED NONCON (NOT DESTIEL)  
> RATING: MATURE 
> 
> NOTES: Cas and Dean go undercover as FBI agents to bust a trafficking ring with mob connections. The catch? They have to pose as a couple. This doesn't exactly end on a cliffhanger, but it IS a drabble, so I'm sure it's not as complete as some folks would like. Insert your own ending if you like, but my boys always end up together. ;)

“Undercover(s)”

This had seemed like a much better idea and far less of a big deal when they’d been sitting in the Lieutenant’s office discussing it. As a regular undercover agent, Dean was more than familiar with the process. It wasn’t cutting himself off from the few friends and the little family he had that worried him, it wasn’t adjusting to an entirely new lifestyle, nor was it the inherent danger of hanging out on the daily with people who killed UCs like they swatted flies. This time? It was learning to do it all with someone else. Not that he had to adjust to _Castiel_ per se, Castiel had been his best friend for years, and his partner whenever neither of them were undercover. And Castiel was used to doing the UC routine on his own, so Dean didn’t worry about him blowing their cover out of inexperience or anything like that.

But Castiel was also… _Castiel_ . The man Dean had been _very_ secretly in love with for several years now. With his dark, perpetually messy brown hair, his big, soulful, ocean blue eyes, his adorable expressions of confusion… the way he tilts his head a bit when Dean makes a pop culture reference that he doesn’t understand… the way his fingers flip open the gun holster on his belt… the way he has to drink at least two cups of coffee in the morning before he can function, the way… yikes. Dean shakes his head to clear it and then drops it into his hands when he realizes how far gone he truly is. He drops his hands to his hips before Castiel can return from the ensuite bathroom and see the obvious signs of his freaking out. He takes a few deep breaths and tries to convince himself that this won’t be an absolute disaster.

They’ve been undercover for three months now, infiltrating an extremely notorious ring of sex traffickers with potential mob connections. This assignment had required different parameters than usual, their lieutenant wanting two cops to pose as a couple to get close, both for safety and as an excuse for not “touching the merchandise.” They’d done well so far, but their contact had been limited, mostly relationship building and cursory contact. They’d been able to go back to their apartment and carry on as they usually did, biding their time until they got an opening. Dean crashed on the couch, Castiel crashed on the bed, nothing had gotten too personal or intimate. 

But things had escalated in the past week. Dean had been running errands and doing some minor illegal favors for the big boss, ingratiating himself and falling into favor with the inner circle. As thanks, he’d been invited to attend a party tonight with Castiel. This would be their first real test as a “couple,” and they couldn’t afford to fuck it up. A few hours into the party, it became clear that a little hand-holding and snuggling on the couch wasn’t going to cut it. The party was _wild_ , and Dean was well aware that multiple sets of eyes were on him. If he wasn’t going to partake in the underaged, likely trafficked girls, he and Castiel would have to play up _hard_ why. The two of them had escaped into a back bedroom of the penthouse belonging to the host of the party (and one of the big fish he and Castiel were aiming to fry) under the pretense of hooking up, but there was no way they could go back out to that party if they both weren’t prepared to perform.

So Dean just needed to pull himself together. Both he and Castiel had gone into this with open eyes, aware of what might be required. Sure, they’d hoped to skate by without actually needing to do anything physical, but the possibility had been there from the beginning. And they were both professionals - agents did _all kinds_ of crazy things while under to avoid blowing their cover, this really shouldn’t be a big deal. Castiel clearly wasn’t bothered by it. Nope, just Dean, and his stupid _feelings_. He gave himself another quick pep talk and took a few more deep breaths, turning quickly and plastering on a too-wide smile as the door to the bathroom clicked and opened.

Castiel took one look at him and raised his eyebrows while simultaneously wiping off his wet hands on his pants. He crossed the room and stepped into Dean’s space in a way that would have made Dean uncomfortable, had it been anyone else. But he and Cas had always been tight like that, sharing a sort of strange bond that other people didn’t quite understand but that made working together as partners natural and easy. “Dean,” he murmured, low and soothing, “Don’t get worked up, it’ll show. Just follow my lead, alright? Just like this,” he added, tilting his head to the side slightly and leaning up to close the few inches difference in height between them in order to capture Dean’s lips.

The kiss was soft and gentle, but lingering. Castiel’s mouth was welcoming, drawing Dean in and pulling him down like an undertow. It was too much - everything Dean had wanted for _ages,_ and hell, he was supposed to be doing this, so sue him, he was all in. Dean let his eyes slip closed as he started to press back, nudging Castiel’s lips open with his own, and letting his tongue swipe the inside of the other man’s mouth while his hand moved up to thread into his hair. They exchanged a few more soft grazes before he felt Castiel pull away slightly and pat his cheek. “Perfect,” Dean heard him say, his eyes still closed. “You’re looking far more relaxed already. Now come on, let’s do this.” Castiel pulled out of Dean’s embrace, Dean’s hand falling to his side. Castiel grabbed it and pulled him towards the doorway, turning slightly as he reached it to say, “If you get nervous, just remind yourself it’s all for the cover, OK?”

Dean swallowed and forced a nod as he let himself be pulled through the door.

Just for the cover.

Right.

Back in the main living area, the party was _rocking._  Loud music with a heavy bass line thumped from surround sound speakers artfully blended into the decor. The Penthouse apartment was luxe, appearing to be a lot less “den of human trafficking” and a lot more “Real Housewives of New York.” Well, if you ignored the half of the party’s demographic, anyway. People were scattered across the plush chairs and sofas, men in fancy suits making out or receiving lap dances from scantily clad, obviously intoxicated young girls. Liquor flowed freely, joints were being passed, and small piles of coke were being cut and offered on a glass coffee table. Castiel slipped an arm around Dean’s torso and pulled him close, brushing his lips against the shell of Dean’s ear as he whispered just loud enough for Dean to hear, “I’m supposed to be your arm candy, right? I’m gonna play that angle.” He slid back slightly with a flirty smile still gracing his face and his arm still securely wound around Dean and _damn_ Cas was good at this. Despite his experience, Dean felt like a goddamn amateur in comparison, with his rising anxiety and his rising… other things, and how the fuck did he ever think he could pull this off?!

He’s pulled from his thoughts abruptly when the host, Vincenzo, slings an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “Having fun, my friend?” Vincenzo’s words are amiable, but his tone belies some suspicion. “You look tense. Are you not enjoying yourself?”

Dean forces himself to physically relax and claps Vincenzo on the chest. “No, I’m good man, I’m really good. Just need another beer,” he says with a smile that he hopes is charming.

“Better idea,” Vincenzo says, arm tightening and pulling Dean towards the lavish wooden bar on the far side of the room. There are a couple of half-naked girls sprawled out across the bartop letting people take shots off of their bodies. “Dealer’s choice,” Vincenzo says with a smirk, finally removing his arm from Dean’s shoulder and gesturing towards the girls. Internally, Dean is _incredibly_ uncomfortable. It’s one thing to bear witness to human trafficking without intervening in the name of taking the ring down permanently and saving hundreds, maybe thousands of girls - it’s quite another to touch them. That’s a line that Dean is just _not_ willing to cross, cover be damned. He’s about to make some lame excuse when Castiel squeezes his hand and comes around from his side.

He jumps up onto the bar and starts undoing his button down, Dean’s eyes involuntarily tracking the motion. God, at least he probably looks convincing. He steps forward to stand between Castiel’s legs as the other man shrugs his outer shirt off and then pulls his tee over his head. Dean lets his eyes rake over Cas’ form in a way he _never_ would have without the emotional safety net of their _necessary_ cover. “Dean can do what he likes, of course,” Castiel says with a very un-Castiel-like smirk, leaning back on the bar and propping one leg up. “But I think this,” he drags one hand down his torso and tips his head back, exposing his neck, “...is more his speed.”

Dean can’t help but let a tiny moan escape his lips, and a quick glance sideways at Vincenzo has him looking pretty convinced, but Dean knows they need to see this through. He hops up on the bar, one knee on either side of Castiel’s hips and picks up a bottle of Tequila fitted with a pour spout from the working side of the bar. The bartender hands over a slice of lime and a salt shaker. Castiel grins and thrusts his hips up just a little bit underneath him. Dean prays he doesn’t pursue that idea or the hard burge in Dean’s pants is going to very quickly give away that for him, this is more than a show. He leans forward, hovering over Castiel, who draws a line with his finger just under his collarbone. “Lick,” he says, and Dean obliges, dragging his tongue across Castiel’s pretty, tanned skin. He pulls back just enough so that they’re almost face-to-face, and sprinkles salt across the wet line. He pops the lime flesh side out between Castiel’s teeth and pushes himself back up onto his knees.

Castiel hollows his stomach and Dean pours some liquor in, bright green eyes still locked on Castiel’s blue ones. In one smooth movement, he leans forward to lick the salt off his collarbone, moves down to suck up the liquor, letting his tongue dip and swirl into the hollow of Castiel’s belly button, and slides up to take the lime from Castiel’s mouth. Their lips brush, just barely and Dean doesn’t move an inch as he sucks the juice from the lime while crouching over his partner on all fours. He turns his head to the side just enough to let the lime fall from his lips onto the bar. He should sit back up. He should, but Castiel is just laying there under him, looking so pliant and inviting and beautiful. Dean can’t help himself. _For the cover,_ he tells himself, as he dips his head down and bites Castiel’s neck gently, letting his teeth drag as he pulls back to meet Castiel’s gaze again. The man under him pauses for a moment and then reaches up with both hands to grab the back of Dean’s head and pull him in so that their mouths come together.

This kiss is nothing like the one they shared back in the bedroom. Where that one was careful and sweet, this one is _hot_ and demanding, open mouthed and wet- tongues tangling messily and hands roaming, as much as they can in their current positions. When Dean finally pulls back and sees the lustful longing written all over Castiel’s face, he knows two things with absolute certainty. One; anyone watching will almost certainly buy their cover. And two; he is, without question, absolutely 100% _fucked._

He never wants this assignment to end.


	16. DAY 16: HEROIC FANTASY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: HEROIC FANTASY  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: TEEN
> 
> Notes: I was pretty burned out today, so i wrote some super indulgent sassy-Castiel super-tropey arranged-royal-marriage stereotype-crushing omega!Cas/alpha!dean TRUE MATES total fluff bucket. Sorry. Not sorry. Blame the prompt limit of 2k for not getting smut, lol. I was already over - for that i'm sorry because omega!cas is my secret JAM. maybe i'll have to come back to these two for some hardcore smut in a later chapter. They deserve it.
> 
> *THIS IS NOW PART 1/2; PART 2 IS DAY 17*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some pics of what I envision Castiel's outfit is. Yes, that's Prince Humperdinck from the Princess Bride. Again, sorrynotsorry.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> And here's Dean (how hot would Jensen look in this?!):
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> With this cloak:
> 
>  

"Exceeding Expectations, Part 1/2"

Castiel tugged on his robes, annoyed. It was bad enough that he was being married off to some stranger, being made to wear these heavy ass things was just insulting. They were light blue velvet, with ornate silver trim around the collar, waist, and arm openings, with a long-sleeved, collared silver undershirt, and Castiel knew the colors were supposed to accentuate his eyes. Like a fucking ornament.  _ Can’t give someone a gift without wrapping it up all pretty,  _ he thought sarcastically. As the carriage bumped along the backcountry road on the way to his new home, Castiel finally let himself consider his fiance. He’d long since moved past considering his  _ options _ \- at this point, stripping down and trying to tuck and roll out of the carriage, making off into the forest before anyone could catch him to live as a wildman was basically all there was left. Anyway, he could always do that later, if “Prince Dean” was truly that repulsive.

It’s not like he hadn’t been conditioned his whole life to expect this. As an omega, there weren’t exactly a multitude of options, and the kingdom needed this alliance. And anyway, his family was a miserable bunch that Castiel had never fit in with. He should probably thank the Prince for getting him away from that greedy, exploitative lot, even if he did turn out to be a fat, lecherous abomination of an alpha. Castiel knew he shouldn’t be so pessimistic, but he just wasn’t lucky enough for this to go any other way. He just hoped that if that _ did _ turn out to be the case, perhaps the Prince wouldn’t be interested in male omegas at all, and would leave him be in favor of harassing the consorts and local bar wenches. Or whatever the equivalent was in the Western Kingdom, perhaps it was only his own gross Alpha Prince brothers that favored bar wenches. If the royal family received a gold piece for every questionable piece of townfolk Balthazar brought home, perhaps he wouldn’t need to be sold off like a prize pig.

Castiel sighed and worried the sharp trim of his outfit’s heavy fabric between his fingers. He’d resent being dressed up like a shiny toy a lot more if he wasn’t sitting smugly with the knowledge that a tailor had to be hired to custom make this outfit specifically to fit him, costing his parents a pretty penny. Despite his upbringing and to his parents’ extreme dismay, Castiel had never been content to fit the meek, fragile omega mold, instead choosing to exercise and work out until his muscles flexed and bulged big enough to rival any alpha. As such, he didn’t fit in any of the omega-bridal-wear that was available at Market. His physical status was probably another reason he wasn’t  _ overly _ concerned about Prince Dean… if he had to, he felt fairly confident he could toss the -  _ his, _ ew- alpha across the room. No one was raping him, of that Castiel was certain.

He could tell they were approaching Winchester House, as the carriage was slowing. While he was happy to be nearing the end of his five-day trek across the land between the two kingdoms, in his estimation, there was nothing to look forward to here, either. He turned back and pulled the curtain to check on the carriages following him. They contained his parents, the King and Queen of the Eastern Kingdom, and a handful of his siblings, whichever ones deemed it not entirely beneath them to see him off, and Castiel honestly hadn’t been paying attention enough to know who had ultimately come along. Though now he could see Gabriel’s head hanging out the side of the carriage directly behind him, yelling something that was lost to the wind before he was jerked back inside, probably by his mother. Not for the first time this journey, he wished that tradition didn’t dictate he travel alone. Gabriel at least would have had some good snacks and decent humor to pass the time.

Sitting back down, he turned his attention to the curtain covering the side window, and pulled it back, unable to hold back a small gasp. “Winchester House” sprawled in front of him, hardly a house at all. Tall stone walls encircled turrets that stretched higher towards the sky than any Castiel had previously seen. The castle had to be two, three times larger than any the Eastern Kingdom held control of, and it had a  _ moat. _ A fucking moat. Without question, this Prince was going to be absolutely insufferable.

Castiel was actually glad now, seeing this, that he wouldn’t have to spend time getting to know the Prince before the wedding. He’d be married within the hour of his arrival, the Royal Family greeting his own at the gates and then proceeding directly to the Chapel, Castiel arm-in-arm with Prince Dean. He wouldn’t have to make small talk or pretend to not be disgusted with this entire affair, or most likely, ruin the entire thing and have the Prince calling it all off when he said something slightly less than tactful. Like, “So, hope you don’t mind if we never have sex because just looking at you makes me sick.” The carriage rumbled and swayed over the drawbridge (seriously?) before slowing to a stop just inside the castle walls, and Castiel could make out a group of people dressed in wedding finery waiting about fifty yards away. They approached slowly as the carriages behind Castiel’s unloaded, his family lining up for the meeting. They left a path between them for him to travel through. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was his  _ duty _ . As much as he might not get along with his family, he didn’t want the Kingdom to fall. He could do this.

A footman opened his door, and Castiel stepped out. The day was chilly, a strong wind coming from the South, which whipped at Castiel’s back and tousled his dark, messy hair even further around his circlet. He straightened to his full height and dropped his shoulders back, he wouldn’t let this alpha Prince’s first impression of him be that he was weak. But then he caught sight of where his Prince should have been standing and - no, that couldn’t be right. That wasn’t right at all. Because the man standing there was  _ stunning.  _ Tall, muscular and trim around the waist - he didn’t look anything like the spoiled layabout he imagined growing up in a castle like this one. He had light brown hair that was attractively coiffed to accentuate his handsome face - high cheekbones, plush pink lips, and bright, smiling, emerald green eyes, with just a hint of laugh line around them. Right. So maybe Castiel wouldn’t take sex off the table  _ completely. _ Maybe. The man could still be a total asshole, Castiel reminded himself as he approached.

Prince Dean’s mouth had started to quirk up into a sort of smile, and he’d actually extended his _hand_ towards Castiel (his _hand-_ as if he thought of Castiel as an equal?!), when he stopped suddenly and sniffed the air, his eyes turning ultra-focused and locking on Castiel. He continued to sniff as he stalked towards Castiel, who, confused and for the first time feeling truly nervous, started to back up. Dean’s eyes went wide as he did, and if Castiel wasn’t mistaken it looked like… _fear_ flashing across his handsome face. “What-” Castiel began, but cut himself off when Prince Dean finally reached him and stepped into his space, fully invading it and burying his face into Castiel’s neck. Castiel resisted for a moment, placing both of his hands on the man’s dark green tunic and pushing him away before he caught his first whiff of the man himself. _Woodsmoke_ was the first note. _Cinnamon. Leather. Honey. Comfort. Safe. Home._ The smells dissolved quickly into _feelings_ and Castiel’s hands stopped pushing in favor of gripping the cloth to pull the man closer. He buried his own nose in the man’s neck, where the scent was strongest, until the man pulled back unexpectedly, holding him at arm’s length but holding him all the same as if he couldn’t quite force himself to let go. Castiel understood, he’d still be buried in the man’s neck if it had been up to him. 

“It’s not possible,” Prince Dean murmured, somewhat breathlessly, his green eyes looking a bit hazy. “True mates… they don’t exist, they’re nothing but fairytales…”

“Son?” Someone from behind Prince Dean had cleared their throat and made themselves known, presumably King John, not that Castiel could tear his eyes away from the green ones in front of him to confirm. Prince Dean was able to, though, turning slightly to acknowledge his father. A mixture of fear and confusion painted Prince Dean’s pretty face and Castiel wanted nothing more than to take the man in his arms and reassure him that everything would be alright and  _ what _ was  _ that  _ about?! He didn’t even know this man, and yet - something inside of his chest was telling him exactly the opposite.  _ Mate. Home. Safe. Love.  _ Insanity is more like it, the rational part of Castiel’s brain piped up. Prince Dean was right -  _ True mates were not real. _

“I- He… We-” Prince Dean stuttered and shrugged helplessly, unable to articulate to his father what he was feeling when luckily, his mother stepped in.

“I’ve seen this before,” she said warmly, placing her hand on her son’s upper arm, as well as his hand where it covered Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel couldn’t help but scent her slightly, and she smelled as warm and welcoming as she sounded. Not quite as good as Dean, but honestly, he couldn’t imagine anything ever comparing. Involuntarily, he took a step closer. “My parents were True Mates, Dean,” she continued, and Dean’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening and then closing again with one look from Queen Mary. “I didn’t  _ tell you _ , son, because the likelihood of anyone ever finding theirs in this day and age is slim to none. Would you have ever consented to this arrangement had you known your True Mate might be out there somewhere?” Dean honestly didn’t look like he was processing, and Mary patted his arm comfortingly. “You need to go,” she said, gesturing for Dean to take Castiel inside. “Now,” she added when he hesitated. “If you are True Mates, Castiel will go into heat any moment - I can’t imagine you want to be out here when that happens.”

“But, the ceremony…” Dean protested weakly.

“I’ll take care of everything,” Mary reassured him. “A consummated True Mate bond is far stronger than any political marriage ceremony, anyway. The treaty will hold.” 

Dean nodded, though he looked like he might pass out at any moment. He twined Castiel’s arm through his own and took off for the inner sanctum of the castle, bustling Castiel along. Prince Dean leads him through richly decorated hallways and up stone staircases until they came to a side wing that seemed to house only one large room, indicated by an oversized door. Prince Dean didn’t hesitate, turning the handle and entering the large suite. None too soon for Castiel, who felt his body starting to flush with the beginnings of a heat he hadn’t felt come on so strongly since his first one. Slick trickled out against his will and pooled between his thighs, the cravings already building. Dean didn’t look entirely unaffected either, his cheeks flushed and his breathing fast, and not the kind that comes from climbing too many stairs too quickly.

Castiel took a quick glance around the room as Dean shut the door and locked it behind them. A large table in the center contained a variety of foods and drink, a celebration platter. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace and the space was pleasantly warm. Several plush-appearing pieces of furniture and a bathing tub decorated the space, and against the far left wall, there was an oversized four-poster canopied bed. These were meant to be their quarters, Castiel realized. At least for the wedding night. Against his own will, Castiel found himself wondering if Dean would want to share these quarters permanently. He’d known the man all of a quarter hour and already he couldn’t bear the thought of not being near him. Castiel wondered if that would ever fade. He wasn’t sure he wanted it to. This was the most alive, the most whole, the most excited he’d been about anything in the entirety of his life as he could remember it.

Dean was back in front of him before he had time to consider things any further, but he was just standing there, staring at him.

Castiel felt shy for the first time, though all his senses were begging him to reach out and touch the man in front of him. He hesitated. “Don’t you… don’t you want to touch me?”

Dean shook his head yes and affirmed, “More than anything, Castiel… May I call you Cas? Your name is a fucking mouthful.” Castiel nodded with a small smile, taking an immediate liking to Dean’s frankness. As Dean took a step towards him, Castiel met him halfway, and Dean’s head dipped down to Castiel’s neck. Before he could get lost though, he seemed to force himself to pull back, asking quietly in Castiel’s ear, “Is this… is this okay?” Already feeling overwhelmed with Dean’s scent clinging inside of his nostrils again, Castiel could only nod enthusiastically and pull Dean’s head down with his own hand, turning his own head to nose into Dean’s hair, inhaling him greedily. “You smell amazing, Cas,” Dean mumbled into his skin, “And you’re beautiful, you’re like, every wet dream I’ve had since I was a teenager come to life. Can this really be true? Tell me I’m not alone in feeling this, tell me you want me too.”

Dean pulled back then to look into Castiel’s eyes, clearly wanting a real answer from him. This wasn’t lip service. This alpha didn’t just want to  _ take _ him just because he could, even if Castiel would let him, even if they were  _ true mates. _ Dean was going to let this be  _ his choice.  _ Castiel felt a swirling of gratitude and affection rising in his chest for this man who he’d only just met. His  _ mate _ was perfect. He moved closer to Dean, wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck, murmuring softly, “I’m yours, alpha,” against Dean’s lips before claiming them. “I’m yours.” 


	17. DAY 17: WING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: WING  
> WARNINGS: EXPLICIT SEX  
> RATING: EXPLICIT
> 
> NOTES: This is Part 2/2 of my ABO arranged marriage fluff-fest, continued from Day 16. I suppose there are some Cinderella vibes in this one, but Cinderella doesn't end quite so NSFW. ;)

“Exceeding Expectations, Part 2/2”

_ Six Months after the Bonding… _

Castiel lurked in the doorway to Sam Winchester’s quarters, watching the young Prince scribble furiously on some parchment, carefully cross-checking his work via several old and frayed books splayed open across the table in front of him. He knew that Sam was relieved not to be assuming the throne in his father’s stead, happy as a pig in shit to bury himself in his scholarly and mage studies. San was good, too, showing a natural talent for magic, and what’s better, he was kind and brave like his older brother. The Western Kingdom’s future was held firmly in capable hands, so much so that sometimes Castiel wondered what he could possibly even bring to the table here. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if his original marriage to Dean had been negotiated simply as an act of benevolence on King Winchester’s part, essentially a large publicity stunt to ensure the continued love and support of his people. Castiel supposed it didn’t really matter, in the end, since it had brought him to Dean, and Dean was his True Mate, everything Castiel never dared to hope for in an Alpha.

And Dean treated him like an  _ equal.  _ He sought Castiel’s opinion on matters regarding the Kingdom. He asked Castiel to accompany him whenever he went into the village to greet his people. He introduced Castiel as his  _ mate, _ never his “omega,” and made it clear to all of the villagers - not only was Castiel to be given the same respect as the rest of the Royal Family,  _ Dean _ respected Castiel as well. He never brought home bar wenches or took consorts, instead he rubbed Castiel’s feet and shoulders after a long day on horseback. He learned Castiel’s favorite foods from his homeland and bullied the kitchen staff into learning how to make them. He left fresh flowers on Castiel’s bedside table and held him close every night. He told Castiel how beautiful, how special he was. Castiel had  _ never _ received this kind of affection and attention in his entire life. Sometimes it moved him almost to tears. He strived to do what he could to show Dean how grateful he was, how much he loved him in return, not for what Dean could do for him, but for who he was.

Which is of course, what brought him to Sam’s doorway today. Tonight Winchester House was holding a Royal Ball in honor of Castiel and Dean’s union. Their marriage had been made legal months ago, just shortly after Castiel’s heat had ended and their physical bonding was complete, but the giant reception that had been planned had to be pushed out much further, so this would be the first time the Princes appeared together in an official capacity. Dean had requested the ball be a costumed affair, to add a bit of levity and take some of the pressure and attention off of them. People would surely go all out, enchanting their costumes and trying to one-up each other for most elaborate. Dean had assured Castiel that he didn’t need to do anything special, that he could simply go in his wedding finery if he were more comfortable, and Castiel had nodded at the time, but the wheels in his head were already turning. Dean had  _ said _ that the costume idea was to put Castiel at ease, and he didn’t doubt that there was truth to that - but Dean also seemed to be far more excited about the costumes themselves than he let on. One night, Dean had rambled for over an hour as they lay in bed about the authenticity of his own costume, something about a cow-herder that rides on horseback and wears a special kind of hat… Castiel hadn’t really followed except to pick up on Dean’s excitement.

And so he had enlisted Sam and his mage training to help bring his idea to life. Dean had this habit of calling Castiel “angel,” since he was named after one, adopted very shortly after they’d first met, and Castiel now planned to give him one. After several minutes of waiting for Sam to take notice of him, he cleared his throat, causing Sam to jump about a foot into the air.

“Jesus, Cas,” he gasped, clapping a hand to his own chest. “How long have you been there?!” Castiel just gave a little shrug and made his way into the room, assuming he was welcome. He and Sam had quite a lot in common and had become fast friends over the last few months.

“Do you need a bit of time to finish up?” Castiel gestured to the papers in front of Sam.

 

“Wh- Oh, no - this is just some… it’s nothing,” Sam replied hastily, shoving the papers into the books and snapping them closed. “Let’s get your costume on!” He hopped from his seat at the table and made his way over to his bed, where a large pair of wings were laying in wait. Castiel had labored for over a month on them, collecting feathers from the castle grounds and sewing them on, intermittently hiding them under Sam’s bed in between work sessions, and now they were ready, just in time. The feathers were all dark, ranging from dark blue to grey to inky black, sorted for the most part into color groups and creating a gentle cascade. “Is that the shirt?” Sam motioned for Castiel to turn around and he complied, allowing Sam to see the two slits he had cut in the shirt’s fabric. “Awesome,” Sam nodded, “Just sit… yea, just there,” he indicated, guiding Castiel down to the edge of the bed.

Castiel felt Sam’s fingers on the exposed skin of his back, applying some sort of poultice. One at a time, Sam lifted each wing and held it in place, muttering an incantation before letting go completely. When he did, Castiel was pulled backward immediately, toppling over and crushing the wings, but they didn’t break. “Oops!” Sam grimaced, moving to Castiel’s side and helping him upright. “Should have realized that would happen.” Sam held Castiel’s shoulders steady and upright while he got his bearings. “Try flexing them,” he suggested.

Castiel complied, realizing that he could actually  _ feel _ the wings, all of a sudden. He took a chance and stood up, perhaps a bit top heavy but adjusting by the minute. He flapped the wings a little, the same way he would move his arms, and Sam’s face lit up in delight. He reached back to touch them, and he could feel that, too. “Sam,” he breathed. “This is extraordinary, thank you.” 

Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “They should last until midnight if I did it right. Let’s hope Dean likes them just as much,” he said with a wink.

***

Castiel waited for the ball to be in full swing before making his entrance. He watched from a balcony high above the Great Hall as guests filtered in and mingled, getting tipsy on ale and wine and enjoying the fine spread that had been provided. He noticed Dean craning his neck trying to catch sight of him several times, but the Crown Prince never looked up and so Castiel stayed safely hidden. He was just about vibrating with anticipation, hoping Dean wouldn’t think him silly.  Dean himself was clad in some kind of leather, tall boots, and that silly hat he’d been going on about earlier, walking around laughing and waving a length of rope with a loop on the end. There didn’t appear to be anything magical about his costume, but he looked extremely happy to be wearing it, flirting and posing with any guests that would humor him. Being the extremely attractive heir to the throne, that was basically everyone.

When the Great Hall appeared to be full, Castiel made his way to the giant staircase that led down to it, where the Herald was announcing the arrival of important guests. Castiel stood at the top of the stairs and stretched his wings to their full span, as a trumpet sounded and the Herald called, “Announcing His Royal Highness, Prince Castiel Winchester.”

The entire Hall went silent, save for a smattering of gasps, “Ooohs,” and “Ahhhs,” and the sound of one glass breaking. Castiel’s eyes searched for Dean and found him in the middle of the dance floor, realizing then that it was Dean’s glass sitting shattered on the stone floor. Dean’s face was one of absolute  _ awe _ as he abandoned the mess without a second glance, approaching Castiel as he descended the stairs. Dean dropped to one knee as Castiel reached the bottom, taking his hand and bringing Castiel’s knuckles to his lips. His eyes were wide and clear, looking at Castiel as if he were the only thing in all of existence worth looking at.

“What could I possibly have done to deserve being graced with the presence of such an angel?” Castiel grinned at Dean’s ridiculous flattery, tugging him to his feet and wrapping his arms around his neck. “You look…” Dean shook his head. “It’s unbelievable.  _ You _ are unbelievable. I can’t believe you did this! You know the whole room is watching, right?”

Castiel only grinned wider, “As long as you’re looking, I couldn’t care less who else is,” he replied, pressing himself up tight against Dean’s body, and watching the look in Dean’s eyes turn heated. “We should dance,” Castiel suggested.

“I have a better idea,” Dean growled, pulling away from Castiel suddenly, only to grab his hand and tug him after him as he dashed from the Great Hall. Behind them, the laughter of the crowd and a round of applause could be heard. “They loved you,” Dean called over his shoulder. “They loved  _ us _ . They won’t care if they see us again for the rest of the night.” He pulled Castiel down a side hallway and through the wooden door that opened to the stairs that lead to their private wing. Dean attempted to take the stairs two at a time and Castiel finally had to stop him with a laugh and a gasp for breath.

“Dean,” he pleaded, resting on a small landing and panting. “These wings are  _ heavy, _ it’s like carrying a small child on my back, slow down, please,” but he was smiling widely. Dean smiled back ruefully and returned back down the half flight of stairs to crowd into Castiel’s space.

“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s just… Man, I don't know.” Dean ran his hands over the tops of the wings, smoothing the feathers down and making Castiel shiver. He let his fingers trail down between the longer feathers. “Something about these wings just makes me… Mmph!” He was cut off by Castiel’s lips on his. “Yea,” he added, around insistent kisses and Castiel’s hips grinding against his. “That.”

Feeling rejuvenated, it was Castiel’s turn to pull Dean along, scaling the last of the stairs to their floor and making it down the hall, inside their room, and onto the bed in record time. “Don’t you rip this shirt if you intend for us to return to the party tonight,” Castiel warned his mate. Dean replied to that challenge by grabbing each side of one of the holes Castiel had cut and pulling forcefully until it tore in half. He smirked as he held the torn fabric in each hand.

“Oops,” he said with a shrug. “Guess we’ll have to stay in bed.” Castiel rolled his eyes but smiled and kissed Dean, shucking his pants and pushing Dean’s down as well. He turned to crawl up the bed on his hands and knees, feeling slick dripping out and down the inside of his thighs as he anticipated what was coming next. With the giant wings, they wouldn’t have much choice for positions, but Castiel secretly enjoys it when Dean takes him from behind. As much as he enjoyed Dean’s tenderness and sweet affections, presenting like this seemed to unleash a primal side of him that Castiel relished. He listened to the sounds of Dean shedding his boots and the rest of his clothes, feeling the bed dip behind him and taking deep breaths as Dean’s warm hands travel up his back, his thighs coming to rest against Castiel’s own, his erection swelling against his bottom.

Dean drapes himself over Castiel, nipping the back of his neck and running both hands over the wings that, thanks to the magic, are still an extension of him. It’s somewhat crazy to feel sensation like this in extremities that don’t really exist, but Castiel decides to stop overanalyzing because for now, it’s  _ very _ real, and it feels  _ very  _ good. When Dean slides home, he grabs the strong muscle of the top of the wings for leverage as he thrusts and Castiel can’t hold back his cries. “Dean!” He gasps and meets Dean thrust for thrust, and apparently, the wings are really doing it for Dean as well because his hips are already stuttering, his rhythm irregular and messy, signaling his approaching climax. Dean squeezes somewhere in the middle of his left wing, and Castiel sees stars, coming all over the bed underneath him and clamping down his internal muscles hard, which sends Dean over the edge with a loud groan. He spills hot and hard inside Castiel, his knot swelling and binding them together.

Unable to roll over thanks to the wings, they kind of collapse there, Dean heavy on top of Castiel, his breathing rough as he comes down, and then suddenly he’s spluttering.

“Shit, what the fuck,” Castiel hears him mutter, accompanied by some light spitting sounds as if he’s trying to get something out of his mouth. He settles for a moment, but he’s really heavy and Castiel has to make a vain attempt not to wriggle under him. “Damn. This kind of sucks. We did  _ not _ think this through at all,” Dean says, and Castiel giggles into the pillow. “Don’t take this the wrong way sweetheart, but I don’t think I’ve ever wished my knot would go down faster. I’ve got a mouthful of feathers, here.”

“At least you’re not being squished underneath two hundred pounds of muscle,” Castiel grumbles, voice half-muffled by the pillow.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean says in realization. “Hang on.” With some effort and not just a little uncomfortable pulling, Dean manages to hoist them over completely so that he’s on his back with Castiel on top, awkwardly shoving his hands down and pushing them both up so that his back is finally propped against the headboard. He raises his knees and plants his feet so that Castiel will be more comfortable, and they finally settle. Castiel grabs a blanket and throws it over them. “Yep,” Dean sighs. “Totally worth it.” Castiel can’t help but laugh as he snuggles back into his mate. Dean smooths the wings down, scents his neck and sighs again, making Castiel flush with contentment.

This must be what  _ home _ feels like.  


	18. DAY 18: PIRATES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: PIRATES  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: G
> 
> Captain Dean of the Royal Navy's ship gets boarded by Pirates.

“The Captive”

The battle was short. The  _ Sea Angels’ _ ocean-battered Pirate ship overtook the Royal Navy’s  _ Interceptor  _ with far less trouble than one would have expected for an HMS warship that was boasted to be the fastest in the fleet. Truthfully, the Navy sailors likely could have outrun the Pirate ship when they’d seen it coming, but under the command of Captain Dean Winchester, there was no way the ship and crew were turning tail from a fight like a bunch of cowards. The crew would have to hope and pray they weren’t about to pay for that cocky decision now. 

The Pirate crew had swarmed over the side of the  _ Interceptor, _ tying off their boat and subduing the crew. Captain Winchester was now blindfolded on his knees, awaiting judgment by the Pirate Captain. His brother Sam, struggled against the two burly men holding him back, hollering Dean’s name repeatedly. A plank was laid across the gap between the tied-together ships, and heavy boots stepped onto it from the  _ Sea Angel’s  _ side. The Captain of the Pirate crew was a dark-haired, blue-eyed, white-toothed man, who in other circumstances, might have even been described as “beautiful.” His eyes were lined with crows feet from smiling and the sun, and his skin was nicely tanned. He wore a leather waistcoat over a loose white blouse that laced up the top of his chest, black trousers, and a black tricorne perched on his head. Many of the  _ Interceptor’s  _ crew gasped as he stepped aboard, having heard tales of a ruthless blue-eyed pirate who was the scourge of the East Atlantic, but never imagined he actually existed. 

“Captain Castiel,” one of the pirates announced, offering his Captain his hand to step down, which the man waved off. Captain Castiel sauntered across the deck with a smirk on his face, running his hand across his stubble thoughtfully. 

“It seems we have ourselves a bit of a predicament,” he announced to both crews watching and waiting. “Luckily for you all,” he gestured vaguely at the Navy crewmen, “I don’t have a use for this ship. I could just sink it,” a murmuring protest swept across their ranks. “Or, I could take something more valuable, and have you deliver a message for me.” 

It was then that Captain Winchester spoke up from his place on the deck. “Please,” he started, his eyes still covered but his voice confident and clear and despite his words, lacking any notes of pleading. “Spare my crew. Do what you will with me, take what you will from the ship, and let them go.” 

The Pirate Captain fingered the sword at his waist and seemed to be weighing the proposition. “Yes,” he nodded, drawing out the word. “I suppose that would be amenable.” He turned to his crewmen. “Take Captain Winchester and his first mate aboard as prisoners. The  _ Interceptor  _ will continue back to England with a message.” He snapped his fingers and one of his crewmen provided a length of parchment and a quill. Captain Castiel wrote out a message and signed it with his insignia, so the Queen would know that it was authentic. “Who is the Second Mate on this ship?” 

A man in Royal Navy dress raised his hand and stepped forward. “Do you understand your task? You are to captain this ship back to its home port, and deliver this message to whoever might care that Captain Winchester and his first mate have been taken prisoner.” 

The second-mate-turned-Captain nodded and took the piece of parchment, scuttling back towards the crew and away from the intimidating Pirate. Meanwhile, Captain Winchester and Sam were being manhandled across the divide between ships and then tied up back to back against the sail posts. Ropes were dropped and the  _ Sea Angel _ unfurled its sails, setting off at high speed in the opposite direction of the  _ Interceptor.  _

Once the Royal Navy ship was out of sight, Sam audibly sighed, standing up to stretch and allowing the ropes to fall from around his middle. Dean pulled the mask off of his eyes first, only to find Castiel towering over him with a big grin. He held his hand out and pulled Dean to his feet. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean swore, wiping his face. “You almost blew it back there. Thank God my crew was too busy shitting their pants to realize you had no business knowing my name!”

Realization dawns over Castiel’s face, but he shrugs it off and turns back to Dean. “I liked you in ropes, I have to admit,” he murmurs teasingly, cupping Dean’s face and pulling him into a kiss. Dean pulls him in tight, returning the press of lips with enthusiasm, encouraging Castiel’s mouth open and letting their tongues slide together.

“Blech,” Sam groaned from aside of them. “This isn’t how it’s going to be from now on, is it? I mean, I wanted out of the Navy but not badly enough to watch you two suck on each other’s faces day in and day out. Let the plank down, I’ll swim back to the  _ Interceptor.”  _

“You’re welcome, little brother,” Dean returns with an eye-roll, pulling his face away reluctantly from Castiel’s, “for ensuring that if they discovered our plot you wouldn’t be hanged for treason. But by all means… keep bitching.” 

Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand. “It’s been months, Sam. Months since Dean and I have seen each other. Anyway, we’ll adjourn below deck. We’ve set a course for an island where we can hide out for some time, come up with our next plans.”  Dean’s hand is warm as it slips into his, and his smile is bright as he tugs him towards the galley and Castiel’s Captain’s quarters. 

“We’re free. We can go anywhere, now.” 


	19. DAY 19: EP 4x17 TERRIBLE LIFE VERSE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: EP 4x17 TERRIBLE LIFE VERSE  
> WARNINGS: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT  
> RATING: EXPLICIT
> 
> If Castiel had been in the "Terrible Life" verse, I just don't think Dean would have even noticed the paranormal stuff, lol.

“Games”

Dean curses Castiel, not hardly for the first time, for going into sales as a career. For being hired at Sandover, for being content not to move up the ranks into an executive or c-suite position where they could be  _ equals.  _ Noooo. Castiel had to be content being his subordinate. His disgustingly attractive, flirty, achingly tempting  _ subordinate. _ And much as Dean may not  _ love _ Sandover, per se, he wasn’t about to throw his entire job and career away on a fling or a hook-up. Not that  _ he _ wanted Castiel to only be those things, but short of rushing off to City Hall by the end of their first date, Sandover had a policy, and executives dating their employees was fully off the table. Their policies on no-strings hookups might be technically a bit muddier, but again, not worth the potential repercussions.

_ But was it not, really? _ Dean winced, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and willing himself to stay in his (albeit comfortable, and ergonomically-designed) seat, for not even the first time  _ today,  _ as Castiel crossed in front of the glass walls lining his office, shooting him a small smile and looking good enough to eat. Oh, but Dean would  _ love _ to get his hands on  _ that _ . You know, if he could. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, surveying the stack of paperwork he still needed to sort through before the end of the workday. He pulled a set of reports that were almost completed from the middle of the pile and looked them over, making a few notes for his upcoming presentation and affirming that the charts and figures he needed to be in there, were actually there. 

He leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on his desk phone, connecting him to his personal assistant. “Melanie? I need some copies made when you have a sec.” He waited, but there was no reply, so he checked the clock. Twelve-thirty. Oh right, normal people take lunch at this time. Dean considered his options. He could wait and have Melanie copy his work when she returned from lunch, it wasn’t like he didn’t have other things to work on, and the copies weren’t urgent…  _ Or _ he could copy them himself… and if he  _ happened _ to  _ have  _ to walk by Castiel’s workstation on the shortest route from his office to the copy room, well, certainly no one could blame him for that.

Dean gathered his work, and headed out of his office, checking both directions for some reason before he ventured into the cubicle pool space. His hands flexed on the stack of papers, and he knew they were moist. Hopefully, he wouldn’t leave any sweat stains and  _ why _ the fuck was he even nervous? He was just walking here, just taking a casual walk, to make some copies, yup, nothing more. He steadied his breathing as he neared Castiel’s cubicle, the inside hidden from view from the angle of his approach. As he passed by he chanced a glance in, prepared to give a casual wave or perhaps a flirty smile. It wouldn’t hurt to just  _ look,  _ right? Unfortunately, Castiel’s cubicle was empty. Dean had to fight down the overwhelming feeling of disappointment settling heavily in his stomach. He  _ hated _ that feeling. That was literally why he gave up carbs.

Sighing dejectedly, he continued on to the copy room. He entered and made a beeline for the monster in the back, ignoring the few smaller copiers towards the front of the room. This one required an executive code, and was much faster, less prone to jams. As he punched in his employee number, Dean was startled by the door closing suddenly behind him, the lock clicking into place. He whirled around to find Castiel leaning on a hand against it, his other hand holding his suit jacket slung casually over one shoulder. He was sporting a dark blue waistcoat to match his jacket and pants, and a burgundy tie to contrast. Dean had never seen the man without his jacket before, and with it off Dean couldn’t suppress the thought that he looked almost  _ naked. _

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said in his low, gravelly voice. Dean swallowed  _ hard _ , and despite Castiel not moving an inch, tried to back up, hindered immediately by the copier.

“Um, heya Cas, what’s with the, uh,” he gestured to Castiel’s left, “the door?”

Castiel just smirked and worked his way across the room towards Dean, slinging his jacket over one of the other copiers as he went. “I think it’s time we stopped playing these games, don’t you, Dean?” Castiel’s voice was almost a purr as he addressed his superior, stepping into his space and letting his hand hover just above Dean’s clothed chest. He let it drift downward slowly, never quite touching Dean but leaving a hot, phantom wake over Dean’s skin all the same. Dean took a deep, stuttered breath, willing the rising tent in his pants to go back down and summoning all of his internal strength to close his eyes and gently push Castiel back with his fingertips.

“Cas, man. Listen, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered as hell and you are-” Dean motioned up and down Castiel’s body, his eyes widening in appreciation as he nodded vigorously, unable to find appropriate words and so settling on making an incredibly awkward “OK” sign with his fingers. If Castiel’s expression was any indication, he found all this  _ very  _ entertaining. “But,” he willed himself to continue, as Castiel took a step closer again, “It’s- there are…  _ rules… _ I just can’t… and you’re my  _ employee, _ it wouldn’t be…” He trailed off as Castiel stepped fully into his bubble, pressing himself from shoulder to groin against Dean and  _ oh, _ he was hard too.

“Cas,” Dean whimpered, pleading now. “Please,” he added, though if he were being completely honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was begging for.

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel replied with a small, devious smile. “I would never want to pressure you into doing something that you had no interest in… _ doing.”  _ Castiel’s expression looked sincere if a bit amused, but his body betrayed him as he stayed pressed up against Dean with an almost unnoticeable roll of his hips, and with that, the very tiny shred of willpower Dean was clinging to went flying out the window.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, more to himself than anything else, not failing to notice Castiel’s face absolutely lighting up with glee. Dean shirked his jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it to the side and then pressing Castiel backward, delving in with both hands to frame the other man’s face and drag it towards his own. Their almost equal heights made it so easy, and they fit together like puzzle pieces carved into magnets. All the frustration of  _ months _ of looking and wanting but never touching exploded from Dean’s lips and the tips of his fingers, and he  _ took.  _ Clothes were shed quickly and haphazardly, both of their impatience resulting in shirts hanging half on-half off, ties still draped loosely around necks, Dean’s pants being abandoned before they were even fully unbuttoned in favor of helping Castiel strip off his own. Dean’s eyes roamed Castiel’s debauched appearance greedily as he rose back up from the crouched position he’d taken to push the other man’s pants off completely.

Castiel’s usually pristine hair was absolutely wild, and the whole naked-except-for-an-unbuttoned-dress-shirt-and-loose-tie thing was  _ really _ a good look on him. His healthily tanned skin accentuated toned pecs, sharp hip bones, and a flushed, thick cock jutting from his well-manicured groin. This was a man who cared about his body, and Dean was suddenly grateful for his own extremely strict diet and gym regimen. He tore his eyes from Castiel’s form and dove back in to kiss him deeply, forcing his mouth wide and tipping it back to push the entirety of his tongue in. Castiel groaned around it and clutched at his biceps, pumping his hips against Dean’s still-clothed ones. Dean continued to kiss Castiel as he navigated him around so that his back was to the big copier Dean was using earlier. He grabbed Castiel’s hips and hoisted him up, no small feat when you considered that the man was adorned with thick, cut muscles over his arms, back, and thighs, but Dean was strong, too. He perched Castiel with his ass on the edge of the copier, and placed a hand in the center of his chest, pushing him back to break their kiss and encourage him to lay down.

The copier was high enough that Castiel’s hips were at Dean’s chest-level, so he barely had to bend to lean over and swallow him down in one go. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked, making Castiel moan and writhe. Dean let his mouth slide up and down Castiel’s length a few times, fingering his balls and applying a little bit of pressure to his perineum until the man was starting to shake under him, then pulling off with a wet pop. He moved his hands so that one was squeezing and kneading each of Castiel’s ass cheeks, then slid them further up the back of his legs to his thighs, pushing them up and backward so the man was fully exposed. Castiel whimpered a little, and his breathing was rough as he struggled to remain still under Dean’s ministrations. Dean pushed down gently, reveling in the feel of Castiel’s thick, runner’s thighs flexing and straining under his hands, and ducked his head to lick up his hard length again. A bead of pre-cum had gathered at the tip of Castiel’s cock, and Dean sucked it off, lingering for a few extra seconds before dropping his head down to lick a wet line from below Castiel’s balls up to his hole.

As soon as Dean’s tongue touched the sensitive furled skin, Castiel let out a  _ way _ too loud whine. Suddenly remembering where they were, Dean stood up and leaned over him, at least as far as he could, consider the copier’s height. “Can’t have you giving us away, sweetheart,” he murmured, undoing Castiel’s tie the rest of the way and balling it up. “Hey, look at me,” he said softly, getting Castiel to open his beautiful blue eyes and focus on Dean again. “Open,” he instructed, and Castiel complied, letting Dean push the soft, satiny material between his teeth before closing his eyes again almost immediately. He spread his legs a little further, clearly indicating what he wanted, which made Dean chuckle a little. “Yea, okay,” he said with a smile, dipping back down to kiss the insides of Castiel’s thighs, the sensitive skin underneath his balls, and then to tongue his way back where he’d left off.

Dean kissed and sucked at Castiel’s rim, and Castiel wriggled and moaned into his tie, working his own hand into Dean’s hair to show his approval. When he was loose enough, Dean’s tongue slipped easily inside, Castiel responding with a muffled groan and jerk of his hips. Dean worked a finger in beside his tongue and left it there when he pulled his face away, teasing and occasionally brushing Castiel’s prostate. When he swallowed Castiel down again, it wasn’t long before he felt fingers tightening in his hair and thigh muscles tensing, Castiel clearly trying his best to avoid blowing his load, but Dean was having none of it. He refused to pull off, instead taking Castiel as deeply as he was able and swallowing several times in succession. With a moan that even the tie couldn’t completely suppress and a sensual arch of his back, Castiel was coming hard and hot into Dean’s mouth. He swallowed it all easily, then standing up and working the man through the aftershocks with his fist. Castiel’s muscles went visibly relaxed then, and he lay boneless on the copier, legs hanging off the side.

“Fumphh,” he could be heard saying from behind the gag. Dean encouraged him up then, sliding him to the floor gently and pulling Castiel’s now-soaked tie from his mouth. Castiel’s hands went to Dean’s belt, but Dean gently removed them, shushing him, and kissing his mouth gently.

“Maybe next time,” he reassured the wobbly man standing before him. “People will be back from lunch any time… this room is never locked. Castiel nodded, still looking a bit glazed over, but with a sated smile gracing his face.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said softly, showing no sign of the overconfident siren that had seduced him earlier, and looking vulnerable if anything.

He looked up and met Dean’s eyes, Dean allowing for a moment of quiet eye contact that felt more intimate than it perhaps should have before he replied, “My pleasure, Cas.” He straightened his own clothes as Castiel stepped back into his pants, and then let himself follow the urge to return to Castiel’s personal space in order to help the man button up his shirt and waistcoat. “I think you’re going to have to forgo the tie,” he teased, stuffing it into Castiel’s pants pocket, and Castiel blushed.

“I’ll just say that I got soup on it at lunch,” he murmured. As put together again as he could be, his eyes lingered on Dean’s for a short moment before he leaned in for a short kiss, pulling away and unlocking the door, heading out into the cubicle space without another word.

Dean returned to his office and worked as well as he could for the rest of the day, though to say his focus was off would have been an incredible understatement. After a half hour or so his erection had gone down, but his arousal persisted at a low simmer. He stayed past his normal time, trying to make up for the wasted lunch break he usually spent working. Not that he would call it  _ wasted _ by any means, though. When he finally packed up and headed for the elevators, he headed past the other executive offices, all of which were dark. Which is why he wasn’t expecting for his elbow to be grabbed, and for him to be yanked inside one of the dark rooms.

“Baby,” a low voice rumbled in his ear as stubble nuzzled at the side of his face. “That was  _ so _ incredibly hot earlier. You were amazing. Thank you for indulging my silly fantasy. And I am  _ going _ to return the favor before we head home, whether you want me to or not.”

The door was pushed closed as Dean was pulled inside, the placard on the outside reading,

“Castiel J. Novak, CFO.” 


	20. DAY 20: MASHUP (COWBOY/COP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: MASHUP (COWBOY/COP)  
> WARNINGS: SEXUAL THEMES  
> RATING: MATURE 
> 
> NOTES: Part 2/2, continued from "Cowboy" day; a pornstar!Castiel/cop!Dean soulmates AU. Dean makes it right.

“Aquarius, Part 2/2”

Dean is a mess. Ever since he discovered that Castiel was his soulmate, he’s been essentially unable to function. He’s been sent home from work twice, the first time after using the wrong paperwork codes that resulted in a petty larceny being accidentally booked as an attempted murder, and the second time for being so hungover and belligerent that someone had to forcibly take his cruiser keys from his hand. He’d sat in his Lieutenant’s office and taken the verbal lashing, then begrudgingly accepted a ride home from his partner, Benny, under penalty of throwing his ass in a cell as an alternative. Benny had poked and prodded the entire way, but Dean just stared at the window in stony silence. Finally completely fed up, Benny had smacked him upside the head and told him that if he didn’t want to talk, that was fine, but that he’d better get his act together or he was going to end up on the wrong side of their job (and without one). Dean had just shrugged and slid out of the cruiser, leaving Benny shaking his head. He’d spent the rest of both of those days in bed, staring down the barrel of a bottle and thinking about what an insane screw up he was.

On day three, Dean woke up relatively sober. Enough to realize that he couldn’t continue on like this. He called his Lieutenant and asked for a leave of absence, deciding that one way or another, he had to sort this thing with Castiel out or he wasn’t going to be able to go on. His second call was to his hacker-turned-bff Charlie Bradbury. He’d been part of the team to bring in Charlie years ago when she was caught and charged with some vigilante internet hacking crimes. They’d ended up dropping the local charges and turning her over to the FBI at their request, and Charlie had cut some sort of deal that included a job offer. Dean had taken an immediate liking to the sassy redhead, even as he’d been the one interviewing her regarding her crimes, and had been secretly thrilled that she’d gotten off the hook. Charlie lived in D.C. now, while he was still in Kansas City, but they texted and spoke on the phone frequently.

More importantly, Charlie was the only person Dean thought he could get words out to right now. He knew she wouldn’t judge, and he had a specific idea of how she could help. Once he got her on the phone and had vomited out the entire story, it was no surprise to Dean that Charlie was all in to help.

***

In the end, Charlie’s elaborate plan goes off without a hitch. Dean’s fake resume gets him a sort of real new job with _very_ real set access to “Urban Cowboys.” A trust fund set up by Charlie provides him some wiggle room to subsist out there since his leave from the police force is unpaid. After two aborted attempts to get on a plane, he finally bags that part of the plan and drives out to Los Angeles. Apparently, his fear of flying is something that even the idea of meeting Castiel can’t drive from his bones. The drive to L.A. cuts down the time he has to settle in before his first day, which sucks, but also the time he has to sit around and lose his nerve. He doesn’t exactly know what he’s going to do when he sees Castiel, has no plan for what he’s going to say, but he knows he has to try. He at least needs to _see_ the guy in person, try to confirm the mark is what it appears to be if nothing else. He’d tried to google more about Castiel, looking for anything about his past, anything discussing his “soulmark meeting gone wrong,” anything to confirm or deny that the person who ruined Castiel’s life and destroyed his faith was _Dean._ Honestly, Dean wasn’t sure which he was hoping to find.

But now he’s standing here, in Castiel’s workplace, pretending to be a P.A. just to get close to the guy. In an instant, he feels a cold wash of fear come over him. What is he doing?! At best, Castiel is going to think he’s a huge creeper. At worst, he’ll get arrested for stalking. He pulls his issued headset off and is about to drop it onto a cast-reserved chair so he can book it out of there- when it happens.

Castiel walks in.

Dean’s never been in the room when two soulmates have met for the first time before, and maybe he should have focused his research on _that_ instead of his fruitless combing for Castiel’s history. He knew that his brother and his soulmate Jess professed that they had some “love at first sight” sappy bullshit, but Dean had never _really_ believed that stuff was real - just that his brother had been matched with someone who was as gullible and romantic as he was. Dean has really and truly believed that soulmates were a cosmic joke for his entire life.

Until right now. Because he knows Castiel has walked in the room, and he doesn’t even have to turn around. The air changes, and it occurs to Dean that Castiel has frozen in place as he enters the set. Dean chances a look over his shoulder, and sees the man with a deeply puzzled look on his beautiful face, looking around frantically like he just can’t quite figure out what’s out of place. If you’ve ever returned home and found your front door ajar, with no idea what might be lurking on the other side, that’s the feeling that was settling in the pit of Dean’s stomach, and he could only imagine that Castiel felt the same.

The feeling, and Castiel’s reaction, only solidifies Dean’s decision to run, so he drops the headset and books it out the side door, letting it slam behind him. He’s halfway to his car in the parking lot when he hears a familiar gravelly voice behind him.

“Wait! Please…”

Cursing this ridiculous plan and rubbing a hand over his face, Dean still can't help but cave to the pain in the man's voice as he stops to slowly turn around. Castiel is within ten feet of him, in all his pre-show glory. His face is made up, black eyeliner lining his eyelids and pancake makeup smoothing his features and Dean can’t help but wish he could see what was underneath instead. He’s naked from the waist up, skin oiled up and clad in a pair of soft, worn-in ripped jeans and his signature cowboy boots. The Stetson that usually perches atop his head is in his left hand, and his dark, second-day-dirty sex-hair is a thing of majesty in the morning sunlight. Dean can hardly breathe. It’s not just that the star of literally every nighttime fantasy he’s allowed himself in _years_ is standing right in front of him, it’s something else. There’s a buzzing beneath his skin, a pull bringing them together, something he could never explain that’s telling him the closer he gets to this man, the more _alright_ everything will be.

Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s Castiel that speaks again. “You… you were leaving. You were going to leave me again,” his voice wobbles a little at the end. “Do you have any idea…” He shakes his head and stares Dean down, gaze turning hard and penetrating. “It’s taken me _years_ to get over you, Dean Winchester. You shouldn’t have come here.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “You… you know who I am?”

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “You certainly know who I am, I don’t understand why you’re surprised. It was _you_ that rejected me. Can you blame me for looking you up? I thought it might be the only chance I’d ever get to see you. Even if you didn’t want me. I still wanted to know.” His voice got softer on the last sentence, and he looked down at the ground. Dean was momentarily distracted by the sun glinting off Castiel’s oiled, muscle-y chest.

 _Focus, Winchester._ “Cas- I… I didn’t know…” he trails off, not quite knowing how to describe the thrumming in his veins, the heavy vice squeezing his heart, the inexplicable drag that was getting increasingly more insistent the longer he refused to succumb and move closer to Castiel.

Castiel looked to be about at his breaking point as well, clearly fighting off similar influences, but unlike Dean, he _does_ finally take a step forward. “What’s wrong with me, Dean?” He lifts his chin so their eyes can meet, and Dean finds himself drowning in the deep pools of blue. “I mean - I know you’d never want me now - I understand that I’m a pornstar, it’s not…” He shakes his head, “But… back then? I was _so_ excited to get your, well, what I now know was your brother’s email - I just wanted to get to know you. Dean. I’ve spent my whole life wondering, why didn’t you want me?” Tears spilled over then, running down Castiel’s cheeks and leaving streaky black lines as his makeup ran and that was all Dean's heart could take.

He moved forward, his hands coming up almost of their own accord to thumb away Castiel’s tears and draw him into Dean’s arms. “‘’M so sorry, Cas, I was a stupid kid, I didn’t know. I didn’t know,” he repeated, as Castiel went into his embrace willingly, tucking his head into Dean’s neck and allowing Dean to soothe his hands through his hair and down his back. “Cas,” Dean whispered, and if he was on the verge of drowning before, now he was fully underwater with no ability - no _desire_ to come back up. He’d never felt so _right,_ so _complete_ , never had any idea that he _could_ feel like this. He let himself drop his nose into Castiel’s soft hair, inhaling the various scents that made up _Cas_. But when his nose caught the tang of lube and oil, he snapped back to reality, raising his hands to Castiel’s shoulders and pushing him back just slightly.

“Cas, look at me, look at me, please.” Castiel slowly raised his tear-streaked face, and Dean felt his own eyes welling up at the sight. “Cas, you gotta know… the porn stuff…” Castiel averted his eyes as Dean spoke. “I don’t care about any of that.” Castiel’s eyes snapped back to Dean’s, half-hopeful, half-disbelieving, and Dean couldn’t exactly blame him for that. “I don’t,” he shrugged. “I ain’t perfect, Cas. And anyway,” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, taking his own turn to avert his eyes. “I think you’re pretty hot when you… you know.” He chanced a glance back at Castiel to find him smiling for the first time, and Dean would do _anything_ to keep that look on his face. Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed both of Castiel’s hands. “Cas, let me make it up to you. Let me show you who I really am, and I want to know you too. Please. Give me a chance,” he pleaded.

Castiel stepped closer, squeezing Dean’s hands back. “I was never the one who didn’t want to give us a chance.” He took a deep breath, “But, if you don’t really want to give us a fair shot, don’t lead me on, Dean. I can’t… I can’t go through this again. Especially not now.”

Dean shakes his head in agreement, and part of him knows he should be freaking out at the words that spilled out of his mouth but he just… isn’t. “I’m all in, Cas. I swear it. I didn’t know,” He reached up and tucked a strand of Castiel’s short hair behind his ear. “I’m all in.” He let his hand drift down Castiel’s cheek, and when the man leaned into it, he trailed fingers down his neck, over his shoulder, down his arm until they closed around his wrist, turning it over and comparing the mark there to his own. “Damn,” he breathed. “I just always thought… I thought it was just a mark.” Dean stepped forward, bringing his lips within a breath from Castiel’s own, but letting it be his choice to close the distance.

Castiel does, with very little hesitation, and Dean’s heart swells at the trust his soulmate is willing to put in him, after everything he’s done.

“I’ll make it up to you, Cas,” he says against his lips. “I promise.”

Castiel smiles and nods. "I'll let you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the comments if you’d like to learn a bit more about this particular soulmark verse- there’s quite a bit more to it than I was able to get into with the word limit, but there’s a neat discussion in the comments about it!


	21. DAY 21: X-MEN/MUTANT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: X-MEN/MUTANT  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: TEEN - MILD SEXUAL CONTENT
> 
> Notes: I've never seen the X-men and i really dgaf about superheroes so enjoy some Castiel working in a movie theater, lol. I've been drowning in Cockles fluff and feels via VANCON all weekend and I'm all up in my emotions so this is just plain FLOOFERY.

“Popcorn”

Castiel’s life was nothing special. Same routine, day in and day out. Wake up, make breakfast, do some chores or run errands, get ready for work, work two PM to midnight, drive home to an empty apartment, shower off the smells from work, eat dinner, watch TV alone, go to sleep alone. Wake up. Rinse. Repeat. It wasn’t that he didn’t long for someone to share his life with, he just had no idea how to go about _finding_ someone. Or, if he was being honest, showing anyone that he was interested. Castiel was more than aware that people had been describing him as “socially awkward” since Kindergarten. So he stuck to his routines. At work, there was a routine too. Clock in, make the popcorn, stock the concession window, open the register. Throughout his shift? Serve the customers, wipe down the counter, refill the popcorn machine, restock the concessions. When the last movie playing was half over? Clear the concession window, clean the equipment, close the register, secure the money, clock out.

Castiel didn’t mind his job. Perhaps it wasn’t the most glamorous or exciting, but it was honest work, and he liked making people happy. And save for the occasional asshole, people _were_ usually happy to be going to the movies. His days weren’t special, but they were pleasant enough. Occasionally someone would stop at his counter who would catch his interest, and he’d wish he had the courage to say more than, “Hello, how are you today? What can I get for you?” But his tongue always tied, and the people always smiled and thanked him politely, going on about their night and instantly forgetting about the lonely popcorn maker at the concession stand.

Probably the hardest thing for Castiel to watch was the couples. And obviously, in a movie theater, there were tons of them. Sometimes during a lull in sales, he would stand at the counter and watch movies let out, duos trailing outside into the night arm in arm, talking happily or exchanging kisses. Teen couples would frequently slip into a dark corner of the hallway or one of the bathrooms to make out and grind on each other before being picked up by their parents. Even older folks strode hand-in-hand with an ease between them that only years of familiarity and joint life-building could bring, quiet but comfortable in just being together. Castiel watched them all, searching their faces, their body language, listening to snippets of their conversations and trying to figure out _why_ it seemed to be so easy for everyone else. Why was it so _difficult_ for him? Why was he so awkward, so detached, that he couldn’t even seem to start a freaking conversation? He never did figure it out.

Because all that was before “Hi, I’m _Dean._ ” Dean who didn’t look right through him, even though the first time he stopped by Castiel’s counter, he was on an apparent date with a cute brunette girl. He had ordered and paid, and when Castiel handed over his change, he had looked down and read Castiel’s name tag. “Thanks… Cas,” he had said with a wink, heading off with the girl but looking back over his shoulder to toss Castiel a smile. Not even knowing his name at the time, Castiel had waited anxiously for the man’s movie - X-men, or some other generic superhero flick- to let out, just hoping to see the friendly face who had treated him like an actual _person_ one more time. When it did and he strode by, he had smiled at Castiel again and given a little wave. Castiel had blinked and reacted just slightly too slowly, waving his hand at the man’s back as he left.

That night, when Castiel took his break and ate his turkey sandwich brought from home, he didn’t think about his work routine. Instead, he let his mind drift onto green eyes and freckled skin, a kind smile, and a _wave_. Someone had noticed him. Someone beautiful, in fact. Castiel was sure he’d never see the man again, but his chest still warmed from the interaction, and he went over it repeatedly in his head for days, treasuring it like a hot drink on a cold night.

The green-eyed man had returned a few nights later though, X-men again, this time with a taller man sporting long, floppy hair. They joked and horsed around in line like good friends and even Castiel with his limited social awareness was able to determine that this was probably not a date. He also noticed that the duo waited in Castiel’s line, even though the one that his co-worker was serving on was shorter. When they got to the front, the man’s smile widened and he said, “Heya, Cas!”

Castiel was unable to prevent the look of surprise he knew was taking over his face, but he was able to gather himself enough to reply, “Hello,” and give the man a hesitant smile in return.

The tall, floppy-haired man nudged the green-eyed man’s arm, which prompted him to clear his throat and stick out his hand. “Hi, I’m Dean, by the way. Doesn’t seem quite fair that I know your name and you don’t know mine.” Castiel had slipped his hand into Dean’s and squeezed, and from that moment on, he was lost.

Dean had come every night after that for a week, exchanging pleasantries with Castiel and tiny tidbits of information about their lives. He always came to Castiel’s counter to buy his popcorn, and he always stopped by on his way out to chat. By night four, Castiel knew that Dean was a mechanic, that the man he’d come with on the second night was his brother Sam, that Dean loved pie and cowboys and drove a ‘67 Chevy Impala, and that the girl from night one wouldn’t be getting a second date. On night five, Dean had come out halfway through his movie and leaned over the counter, chatting with Castiel until the show let out behind him. He’d stretched and bid Castiel goodnight, though he seemed reluctant. On the sixth night, Castiel had asked Dean what movie he was seeing, and Dean had to check his ticket. “Um, X-men again,” he replied, a little awkwardly, which was strange for the usually hyper-confident man.

Castiel had furrowed his brow and questioned why Dean kept coming to only see X-men, especially if it hadn’t even held his interest the night before, and Dean had confessed that he didn’t think it really mattered since he’d napped through it the three nights before the last one. Still not understanding, Castiel had pressed him, and Dean had taken his hand across the counter.

And now, months later, Dean is _his_ someone. Someone, some _thing_ he thought he’d never get to have. Dean still visits him at work, but he doesn’t buy tickets to movies he isn’t going to watch, he kisses Castiel behind the theater on his break and makes him laugh when he jokes about getting turned on by the smell of fake buttered popcorn. When Castiel comes home at night, he still showers and eats dinner and watches TV, but it’s a meal that _Dean_ cooked, in _their_ apartment, watching _their_ TV, with Dean curled against his side. And when he goes to bed, it’s Dean’s arms that hold him, Dean’s hands on his body, Dean’s face in his hair. And when he wakes up, it’s to Dean’s sleepy smiles and promises that he’ll be there when Castiel gets home.  

Before, before “ _Hi, I’m Dean,_ ” Castiel had sometimes questioned whether he was even capable of love, or whether he was only cut out for routines. He doesn’t wonder anymore. It’s easy to love his Dean. It _was_ easy to make Dean a part of his life. And when Dean holds him close, and he puts his hands on Dean’s body, he feels alive, feels _actualized_ in a way he couldn’t even conceptualize before. Dean is gentle with him, but he also makes him brave, wanting to try things and be things Castiel wouldn’t have even bothered to dream of before. The first time Dean takes Castiel inside his body, the first time Castiel has had sex  _ever_ , he gets overwhelmed by the emotion he feels, as well as the physical sensations of _tight_ and  _hot_ and _Dean._ He comes in only a few short minutes, and tears leak out when he thinks about how disappointed Dean must be in him. 

But Dean kisses him all over, wipes his tears, holds him tight, says "That's why they sell condoms by the box, sweetheart! We'll just have to do it again, and again, and again," with a sweet wink and a light tap to Castiel's backside. Castiel is filled with wonderment and appreciation and spends the next half hour trying to figure out what he's done to deserve this man. The next time goes better, and so does the time after that, and now he can make Dean shake and quiver and scream his name, and  _what a feeling._ Being with Dean like  _that_ is anything but routine, and nothing like Castiel had ever dreamed.

Before Dean.

And now, every night, Dean meets him at the door when he gets home from work. He shoves his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck, sniffing and smiling into his skin and laughing softly about how he never gets tired of the smell of buttered popcorn. And that’s a routine Castiel never wants to give up.


	22. DAY 22: COLLEGE/TEACHER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: COLLEGE/TEACHER  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: G
> 
> NOTES: I wrote Part 2 of my Rockstar verse, since Dean and Cas were supposed to have met in college!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find Part 1, aka my entry for DAY 8 "ROCKSTAR"
> 
> [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297559)

[CLICK to Read Part 2 of the "Rock You" Verse, "From the Beginning" HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383983)

 

 


	23. DAY 23: MATRIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: MATRIX  
> WARNINGS: AMBIGUOUS/OPEN ENDING\  
> RATING: MATURE (MILD REFERENCES TO SEX, SWEARING)
> 
> NOTES: Dean wakes up and Castiel is gone. Did he ever exist at all?

"Forgotten”

The soft, warm light of late morning woke Dean gently as it spilled through his curtained window.  _ Cas must have forgotten to close them last night, _ Dean thought to himself, still only half-awake. He rolled over and stretched, feeling his joints pop and relishing in the luxury of waking up refreshed for once. He hadn’t slept in on a Saturday in ages, regularly taking the early shift at the station to take advantage of the weekend shift differential. He felt good, and he was looking forward to spending a lazy day at home with Cas. Maybe he’d start by making him breakfast… his favorite from-scratch blueberry pancakes with whole grain flour _.  _ Dean briefly contemplated inviting his brother Sam to join them, but then quickly nixed that plan when he realized he’d be unable to fuck Cas against the kitchen counter after breakfast if he did.  Speaking of… he reached down and palmed his morning wood, and then rolled towards the inside of the bed, reaching for Cas and wondering if he could get lucky before  _ and _ after breakfast. 

But his hand met empty sheets. Cold, empty sheets. Hmm. That was odd. Castiel wasn’t exactly a morning person, rarely getting out of bed before Dean or his alarm forced him to, and always with more than a little complaining along the way. But perhaps Dean had slept later than he thought, and Castiel had gone out for a run or something. Dean rolled over to check his phone that was sitting on the nightstand. Nine thirty. Dean frowned, a funny feeling settling in his gut. Something was not right here. He got up and shuffled around the bed, looking for his slippers. On his way, he noticed that the clothes Castiel had strewn on the floor the evening prior as they sunk into bed together were missing. 

“Cas?” He called out, directing his voice out the door to the rest of the apartment. There was no answer. Dean shuffled into the bathroom, his erection having fully wilted by this point, and relieved himself. But when he went to wash his hands, his stomach jumped up into his throat. Castiel’s toothbrush was gone. So was his hairbrush, his product, his deodorant. Dean peaked into the shower. Castiel’s expensive honey-based body wash that he’d gotten him for Christmas was missing too. Starting to panic, he rushed back into the bedroom and checked their dresser, the closet. All of Castiel’s things were gone. He must have up and left in the middle of the night while Dean slept. Dean grabbed his phone and frantically pulled up his “favorites,” but Castiel’s name was missing. His contact entry, their ongoing text message string, and all recent calls back and forth had been deleted. Dean cursed and punched in Castiel’s number by hand, since he knew it by heart.

_ “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service. Please hang up and try your call again.” _

How was this happening?? Everything had been fine, everything had been  _ great _ just last night. They’d made love, Dean had brought Castiel a cup of tea, and they’d fallen asleep curled together watching sitcom reruns. Just a few nights ago they’d been discussing buying a  _ house _ . Dean had a fucking ring in the back of his sock drawer. Dean’s eyes filled with tears and his hands shook. What was he even supposed to  _ do _ now?

He went back to his favorites list and hit the contact that was now at the top, only having to wait for two rings before hearing his brother’s voice. “Dean? Everything OK?” Sam sounded like he’d just woken up too, voice scratchy with disuse.

“Sammy,” Dean choked out, the tears really starting to spill over now. “He’s gone.”

“What?” Rustling could be heard in the background, presumably as Sam pushed himself up in bed and tried to get his bearings in the waking world. “Who’s gone?”

“ _ Cas,”  _ Dean moaned. “His stuff is all gone - he must have packed up in the middle of the night and just left! His phone is disconnected, and he deleted his number from my contacts. Sam, do you know where he is? What should I do?” There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and Dean became impatient. “Come on Sammy, I have to find him. He must have… I don’t know. I can’t even think straight. You’ve gotta help me, man, I feel like I’m going crazy here. This is some next-level glitch in the Matrix shit.”

“Dean,” Sam said slowly. “You’ve got to calm down. Can you back up and start at the beginning? First of all, who is  _ Cas?” _

“What? Cas, man. Castiel, my boyfriend. The guy you helped me pick out a ring for? You went to college together, you fucking introduced us, what do you mean  _ who is Cas?” _

Sam drew in a long breath on the other end of the line. “Dean, how much did you drink last night?”

“What? Nothing! Sam, what the fuck? Are you in on this? Is this some kind of massive prank, because if it is, haha, you got me, you can stop now.”

“Look, Dean, I’ll be right over, OK? Just stay where you are and we’ll figure this out.” Sam sounded genuinely worried, so Dean agreed. He hung up the phone and pulled his hands through his hair as he wandered out to his living room. What on earth was going on?

As he entered the living room, his gaze was caught by the trio of pictures on his wall. They were the same pictures that had been there last night - except  _ Cas was missing.  _ The picture with him, Sam and Cas at the latter two’s graduation from Stanford was just him and Sam. The one of him and Cas on vacation in Mexico was now just  _ him. _ Same smile, same sunglasses, and sunburnt face- no Cas. And the one from last Christmas with his entire family - everyone was there, but Cas was no longer snuggled into Dean’s left side, the space conspicuously empty. 

“Okay,” Dean yelled to the empty room, scanning the ceiling, the bookcases, the pictures for signs of hidden cameras. “You can come out, you got me. This is really good photoshop, by the way. Come on Cas, you win, just come out now.” The room was silent.

As he waited for Sam, Dean ripped his apartment apart looking for signs of Castiel’s existence, but there were none. Even a social media and google search turned up zilch. Everything was as Dean would expect it, it was all just…  _ minus _ Castiel, like someone in the sky had come and hit a giant delete button, erasing him from existence. The only thing remotely related to Castiel that persists is the ring sitting in a sock in Dean’s drawer. He pockets it, wanting the proof of  _ Castiel _ close to him.

By the time Sam showed up, Dean is half-drunk on a bottle of Jim Bean he found under the sink (that he  _ knows _ Cas hid from him there last week). His phone is in front of him, with a long list of recently dialed numbers. All of them have been deleted from his contact list, but with a little online sleuthing he was able to find them. Castiel’s relatives treated him like he was fully insane when he’d called. His job had no one listed there by that name. The volunteer group he’d been leading for a year and worked with every Sunday serving soup to the homeless claimed they’d never heard of him. When Sam arrives and lets himself in, Dean is on the kitchen floor, hysterical.

Sam tries. He talks to Dean, soothes him, tries to interpret what he’s saying between the sobs, but what he  _ doesn’t _ do is remember Castiel. Dean finally stops crying, stops trying to explain, and retreats into his own head. Sam takes him home that night, treats him like he’s four, feeding him and tucking him in and promising him that everything will look better in the morning.

He finds Dean surfing the internet at four AM, and the hollow, empty look on Dean’s face scares him. In the morning he brings Dean to the hospital and checks him in.

Dean hardly reacts when Sam hugs him goodbye and promises to visit as soon as the psychiatrist allows. As he’s lead away, Sam calls out that he loves him. Dean doesn’t reply. His things are taken from him and he’s forced to change into a pair of soft scrubs with an elastic waist. He hates everything about this, but he doesn’t protest. After all, he must belong here. He  _ is _ crazy. He either made up or hallucinated a multi-year relationship, an entire  _ person. _ Either way, he’s obviously not well.  

Which is maybe why he doesn’t notice that he isn’t led into the adult psychiatric unit, as Sam was told he would be. He, a pretty brunette nurse, and the two burly orderlies escorting him walk  _ through _ the unit, bypassing the dayroom, the nurse’s station, and the double-occupancy patient rooms. They pause at the back of the unit, at a heavy metal door with multiple locks which the nurse has to bypass using a swipe card, a fingerprint, and a voice command. Something about this does ping Dean’s radar as unusual for a hospital - but what does he know? He’s never been in a psych ward, and he’s probably not the best judge of what  _ normal _ is and isn’t right now. He shrugs off the pinpricks of  _ wrong _ that travel up the back of his neck and make his hair stand on end, and follow the nurse through the door without complaint. The orderlies remain on the other side, and the door slams shut behind him, heavy and harsh.  

The hallway boasts a window with sliding glass halfway down, and there’s a nurse sitting on the other side reading a magazine. The nurse that’s leading Dean checks in here, and the one behind the window hands over another hospital bracelet before pressing a button hidden under the window on her side. This hallway ends in another security door, and the button makes a buzzing noise that signals it’s being unlocked. Dean’s nurse takes the bracelet and ushers him through the second door, stopping on the other side after it closes to take Dean’s wrist. She snaps the bracelet on and Dean notices that it’s not a traditional hospital bracelet; it’s more like a cheap-looking Healthbit. Again Dean shrugs off the weird vibes he’s getting and continues following the nurse. It’s not like it matters, anyway. Castiel is gone. 

The room the hallway dumped him and the nurse into is circular. There are a few plain looking cafeteria-style tables in the center and an assortment of plastic chairs. The walls boast the same heavy metal doors that Dean has passed through twice now, except these seem to only require a swipe card to open.  _ Damn, _ he finally lets himself think.  _ They must really think I’m a barrel of nuts. _ It does occur to him to wonder what’s with all the overkill, it’s not like he’s been aggressive or threatening at any time.

The nurse checks her clipboard and motions Dean to follow her to one of the windowless doors. “This is your room,” she says. “You have a roommate. They can explain the routine.” She goes to swipe her card and Dean stops her.

“Wait,” he says. “What about my doctor? Shouldn’t I be meeting with him? Or her,” he amends with a shrug. “Do I get one on one therapy? Group? Shouldn’t you be giving me meds or something?”

The nurse looks at him a little strangely and shakes her head slowly. “Your roommate will explain the routine,” she repeats, and then swipes her card, opening the door. She puts a firm hand on Dean’s back and encourages him inside, closing the door in his face despite his protests.

“Hey!” Dean yells, banging on the door. “What the fuck, lady?! What is this?!” He bangs his fists, but no one comes back.

Instead, he hears a familiar, low voice from behind him. “Dean?!”

He whirls around and has to blink, because if he wasn’t hallucinating before _ surely _ he is now. Familiar messy brown hair, beautiful bright blue eyes with laugh lines Dean  _ remembers  _ loving to kiss, plush pink lips that Dean  _ knows  _ hide an adorable gummy smile, trim and well-muscled body that Dean could map in his sleep because  _ he’s real _ .

“Cas,” Dean breathes, hardly daring to believe his own eyes but at the same time knowing without a doubt that this  _ was _ his Castiel. “Cas,” he repeats, rushing the man and pulling him into his arms. Castiel goes willingly, and Dean feels dampness as he buries his face into Dean’s neck. Dean pulls back quickly, his hands going to Castiel’s face and into his hair. He kisses his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, his nose. “Cas,” he says again, and it feels like a miracle. “I knew it. I knew it,” he chants between kisses. “I love you, Cas I love you so much. I knew you were real. I knew it.”

Castiel grips his biceps with both hands and moans in response, and it sounds so pained. Dean kisses the tear tracks spilling down his cheeks. “Love you,” he murmurs. “I knew you were real.”

Castiel pulls back slightly at that. “Dean,” he says, pausing to wipe the back of his wrist across his nose and sniffling. He looks confused. “Why do you keep saying you knew  _ I  _ was real? Everyone forgot  _ you. _ ”

Dean pulls back, holding Castiel at arm’s length. “Me? I woke up yesterday morning and you were gone! Not just gone but like,  _ gone _ . Erased, man. Like you were never even there. Pictures, places… sweetheart, your  _ mom _ told me you never existed.”

Castiel’s mouth has fallen open and his lips move a few times before something comes out.  “That can’t… Dean, I had the same experience. Yesterday morning. When I woke to you gone and your things missing, I went right over to Sam’s house. He still lived there, he remembered us going to college together, but he acted like I was crazy when I talked about you. He said he didn’t have a brother… he showed me family pictures and you weren’t in them.”

Dean is stunned into silence. He steps forward again and gathers Castiel back up, holding him close to his chest. “I don’t know what’s going on here. But we’re together now. We’ll figure this out. Together.” Castiel nods and squeezes Dean as tight as he’s able.

“I was so scared,” he whispers. “But I never doubted that you were real.” Dean looks around the room as he holds Castiel.

“We’re going to be okay,” he assures the other man, trying to sound more confident than he feels as he takes in the tiny frosted window, the heavy door, the metal bunk beds, and the camera blinking in the upper left corner of the room. He kisses the top of Castiel’s head and tries to ground himself in the man’s familiar scent and the relief of being in his arms. “We’re going to be okay.”

He wishes he believed his own promise. 


	24. DAY 24: GHIBLI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: GHIBLI  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: TEEN (FOR ONLY THIS CHAPTER, THE FULL FIC HAS AN E RATING)
> 
> NOTES: I wrote part 2 of my apocalypse fic that appeared in the "DISNEY" prompt on Day 14, and so I have relocated both to their home as a new series. Please follow the link to enjoy!!

"LAST FIRSTS"

THIS FIC HAS MOVED!

PLEASE VISIT IT AT ITS NEW HOME AS A SERIES WITH PART 1 FROM DAY 14: DISNEY

 

[LAST MEN ON EARTH CHAPTER 2: LAST FIRSTS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404725/chapters/38402135#workskin)


	25. DAY 25: WORLD WAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: WORLD WAR  
> WARNINGS: MCD  
> RATING: TEEN
> 
> NOTES: Ummm... i'm really sorry, lol. Reiterating that there's MCD. Spoilers in the end notes if you want to know what/who before you commit.

“Until the End”

No one expected the world to end on a Saturday. A Tuesday, maybe. A Monday? Now that would be fitting. But not a bright, clear, sixty-five degree and sunny across the United States Saturday in October. Three hours before the world ended, somewhere in a small town in rural Kansas, Dean Winchester was splayed out on a crawler, elbows deep in a ‘98 Toyota Corolla that probably should have been scrapped years ago. He was enjoying the breeze blowing in gently from the open bay doors, and thinking about picking up pizza and beer for dinner to bring home to his roommate, Castiel. Classic rock was playing on the radio and Dean was humming along to some Steppenwolf when the alerts started. John Kay’s voice was abruptly cut off by several loud beeps and a flatline tone saying, “ _We interrupt our programming… this is a National Emergency and the following message is an activation of the Emergency Alert System.“_ Dean initially ignored the message, familiar enough with the regular Tornado warnings Kansas received that only half-listening, he assumed that’s all this would be.

Three more beeps, an extended tone and then, “ _This is an emergency action notification… This station has interrupted regular programming at the request of the White House to participate in the Emergency Alert System. During this emergency, most stations will remain on the air to provide news and information to the public in assigned areas… this is a National Emergency and all information broadcasted should be considered relevant to local areas unless otherwise indicated…  you are listening to the emergency alerts…”_ Static followed. Suddenly all ears, Dean slid out from under the car and sat up, only to find his boss and uncle, Bobby, standing there looking at the radio like it might attack him at any moment.

“What’s going on, Bobby?” Dean’s question was met by a shrug and a wave to pipe down as the radio started making noise again.

Three more short beeps could be heard, and then the robotic tone changed to a human one. “ _Please standby for a message from a representative for the President...[dead air]... Good evening. The President has authorized me to make the following announcement, as he is being transported to an undisclosed safe location at this time... ‘As you may already know, tensions between the United States, North Korea, and China are at a breaking point, which we fear may lead to nuclear war. Let me stress that a nuclear attack is not taking place at this time, however as a precaution, the President has ordered the evacuation of all cities with a population over 250,000 as well as all communities within 100 miles of a strategic military installation. Once again, these evacuations are only a precautionary measure. We are doing everything in our power to prevent any further escalation. Please keep your radios, televisions and phone lines open as further updates will be provided as they become available. Thank you, and God bless America’.”_

As the radio beeped and returned to playing the familiar rock song, Bobby turned to Dean with his eyebrows raised. “Well that can’t be nuthin’ good,” he said with a frown. “I’m gonna go inside, see if there’s anything more on the News and call Karen… she’s up North visiting her sister. I’m assumin’ you’ll want to call Sam. Head in after you get a hold of ‘im.”

Dean nodded and pulled his cell phone out to dial. He tried three times, but his little brother Sam’s phone went straight to voicemail. Dean fought down a feeling of panic. His brother was interning at a prestigious law firm in the heart of New York City. Dean tried to be rational. Sam was probably just following the precautionary measures and working on evacuating. It was probably hell trying to get out of New York City. He’d call Dean when he was somewhere safe. If there was one trait that Sam had been handed in the gene lottery, it was practicality. His brother would be alright. He’d head straight for Kansas and he’d be here by noon tomorrow, Dean reasoned. Still, he dialed one more time, letting the entirety of Sam’s voicemail message run out before accepting that Sam wasn’t going to answer. He left a short message anyway, telling Sam to come straight to his and Cas’ apartment, or to Bobby’s. He then headed inside the auto shop, cutting through to where Bobby’s living quarters were. As he went, he fired off a text to Cas, “ _u home?”_ He went to close his text messages but realized he had one unread. It was an emergency alert message, and the contents were very similar to the radio message. Dean deleted it and slipped his phone into his pocket, turning his attention to the TV Bobby had blaring.

“ _...reports of imminent nuclear warfare… attempts at de-escalation have been ineffective… evacuations underway for major cities…”_

“Shit, Bobby, is this really happening?” Dean was incredulous. This seemed like the kind of thing you watched badly CGI'd movies about, not lived through. That thought made him stop in his tracks. _Would_ he live through this? He shook the feeling off, but couldn’t quite rid himself of the stone settling in the pit of his stomach.

Bobby was shaking his head as he grabbed his coat and keys. “I don’t know boy. But you had better get home and make a plan with Castiel. Tell your brother not to head here, I’ve got to head up North and get with Karen. She didn’t answer her phone.”

Dean furrowed his brow as the worrying feeling came creeping back slowly. “Sam didn’t either.”

Bobby shook his head again as he headed out the door, Dean following close behind. Once in the scrapyard, Bobby turned back to face his nephew. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Dean,” he said, a look of sadness crossing his face. “If anythin’…” he trailed off and shook his head one last time, pulling Dean in for a gruff hug and slapping him on the back. “I’ll see you soon, boy, you hear me?” Bobby got into his car and pulled out slowly, raising a hand to Dean as he went. Dean watched him go.

***

“Cas? Cas!” Dean called, barging noisily into their shared apartment.

“In here,” Cas’ voice came from his bedroom. Dean followed the sound and found Castiel sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes glued to the small TV sitting a few feet away from him on his dresser. He looked up as Dean came in. “Dean,” he said, sounding a bit relieved. “Didn’t you get my message?” Dean looked at him sideways and pulled out his phone. There was one new message; a repeat of the same EAS message he’d gotten earlier.

“No,” he said slowly. “Was it in reply to mine?”

Castiel shook his head and squinted, checking his own phone again. “I didn’t get a message from you. I tried to call my mother and my sister, but no one picked up.”

“Fuck,” Dean groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Two is a coincidence, three is a pattern. Cas, I think the lines are shut down. Like for emergency use only? You’ll probably be able to call 911, but maybe not even that by now, depending on how serious things are getting. I bet they didn’t announce the service co-opt because they didn’t want to incite panic. Fuck. Hopefully, Sammy is smart enough to drive straight here.”

Castiel nodded distantly, eyes fixed back on the TV screen, just as it started to beep again, followed immediately by the robot voice.

“ _The following message is transmitted at the request of the United States government. The President has ordered the evacuation of all major cities. All residents are strongly encouraged to take the following actions as soon as possible: Remain calm, prepare an emergency supply kit that includes a first aid kit, flashlight, battery operated radio, spare batteries, a warm blanket for each member of the family, changes of clothes, one gallon of water per person for day for fourteen days, and enough non-perishable food to feed your family for fourteen days. Unplug all sensitive electrical equipment, including televisions and computers. Shut off gas, water, and electricity before leaving. Evacuate using only one vehicle. If you do not have a vehicle, head to the closest public transportation facility. All public transportation has been redirected to assist with evacuations. Do not attempt to pick up loved ones from hospitals or nursing homes. Follow all instructions from police and the National Guard. Stay tuned to local media for further updates.”_

Castiel looks to Dean with wide eyes. “That one was missing the whole bit about it only being a precaution,” he says hesitantly, and Dean has to tear his gaze away, not able to face him with his soul bared like that, in the heaviness of the moment. “This is really happening, isn’t it,” Castiel whispers quietly. “It’ll snowball from here… If North Korea fires on us, the US will retaliate, and then there were be even worse repercussions. Nothing will survive.”

Dean’s throat is suddenly thick and his tongue feels like it’s taking up his entire mouth. He’s as powerless to stop the “I’ll never”s that threaten to fill up his head as a balloon that’s being pumped full of helium. _Sam. I’ll never get to say goodbye to Sam._ Something in the room makes a choked off cry of pain, and after looking around and seeing Castiel’s worried face, Dean realizes with embarrassment that it was him. “‘m sorry, Cas,” Dean mutters, swiping at his swimming eyes with the back of his hand. “S’just, you know, Sam,” he adds with a small shrug. Dean’s left hand is gripping his jean-clad thigh, and Castiel places his hand over it.

“I understand,” he says, and Dean sees that he’s not the only one who’s potentially not taking a one-way trip out of this world on the Stoic Man Train. Castiel has tear tracks on his cheeks, and Dean can’t help but reach up with his free hand to brush them away. Castiel lets him but then turns back to face the TV again. He keeps his hand on Dean’s thigh.

“Fuck,” Dean sighs. “I’m being so selfish. Everyone in this country - maybe on the entire planet- is going through the same thing right now. You included. At least we’re here with each other. Who knows how many people are out there alone right now? Stuck at work or cities away from lo-” he cuts himself off abruptly and clears his throat. “Um, people they care about.”

“I love you too, Dean,” Castiel says simply, though his eyes are downcast, appearing to be focused on his toes. “And I am glad to be here with you.” He pauses and seems to steel himself a little. “I’m… always glad to be with you.”

Dean’s head snaps up, and he searches Castiel’s face for the meaning behind his words. Surely he isn’t saying…? After all this time? Dean and Castiel have been friends and roommates for _ten years,_ ever since they were randomly assigned to room together during their freshman year of college. Dean had ultimately dropped out but had been able to transfer his credits and cobble together an Associate’s degree and with Castiel’s help, had passed all of the tests required to become a Master Automobile Technician. He’d picked up hours at local shops while Castiel had finished his degree and returned home to work with his uncle shortly after. Castiel had followed, having completed a major in art history and declaring he could “paint or teach anywhere,” and that it would be much easier to find a job where Dean was than find another roommate he could tolerate. They’d been together ever since.

Well not _together,_ in the strictest sense of the term, but they were inseparable. Castiel was an out and proud, self-described “panromantic”, but claimed he didn’t have much interest in sex itself. Dean had long since come to terms with the idea that Castiel wasn’t into him, and that was okay, except that the feelings he harbored for the other man made it difficult to pursue long-term relationships. He decided he’d rather have his friend though and made do with one-night stands as the mood struck him. There were some times, though… _some times_ that Dean swore he saw Castiel looking at him with desire in his eyes. But he always hid it away before Dean could be sure. Regardless, Dean had been sure that what they had, was all Castiel would ever be interested in.

Dean decides that it’s extremely unlikely there’ll ever be a better time to find out, and he opens his mouth to ask the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue for _years._ Unfortunately, the TV starts beeping again. The advisory tone is extra-long this time, and although Dean knows he’s projecting, he thinks that even the robot-computer voice sounds a little scared. This message is much more dire.

“ _Civil danger warning. The following message is transmitted at the request of the United States government. This is not a test. The North American Aerospace Defense Command has detected the launch of a single North Korean missile. This missile is believed to be carrying a nuclear warhead and is expected to strike near Los Angeles, California within the next fifteen to twenty minutes. This is an attack warning. Repeat: this is an attack warning. Attack warning means that an actual attack against the United States has been detected, and that protective action should be taken immediately. All persons in the Los Angeles area should take shelter immediately. Do not leave your shelter until it has been declared to do so. Stay tuned to local media for further updates.”_

By the time the message cuts off, Castiel’s hand is over his mouth, and he turns to Dean with an expression of horror that must mimic Dean’s own. They sit there in relative silence until the TV starts reporting that Los Angeles has been struck, with early reports indicating that the blast radius was much larger than anticipated, suggesting more powerful weapons than the US had been counting on, this single warhead decimating the entirety of the L.A. metro area, as far north as Burbank, with the fallout extending far, far beyond that. It’s only ten or so minutes until the next emergency alert starts broadcasting.

_“The following message is transmitted at the request of the United States government. This is not a test. The North American Aerospace Defense Command has detected the launch of twenty Chinese missiles, fifteen of which are headed for the Continental United States. These missiles are believed to be carrying nuclear warheads. There may also be inbound missiles from other countries that we are unable to track at this time. This is an attack warning. Attack warning means that….”_

Dean gets up and turns the TV off before the transmission can be completed.

“Fuck listening to that shit,” he says angrily, though it doesn’t completely cover up the shaking of his voice. “S’not like it’s going to matter. Short of having a fully stocked nuclear bunker in your backyard…” he lifts his shoulders gently as he trails off. When he turns around, he’s surprised to find Castiel in his space.

“Dean,” he says, firmly but with a hint of urgency. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes are wide and clear, sharp blue pools that search Dean’s own for something Dean can’t quite bring himself to believe in. “Dean,” he says again, “I don’t want to die like this. I don’t want to die at all. I know that you want me, and I want you too. I always have, I just… I’ve been a coward. I didn’t want to… I thought we’d have _more time_ , Dean. And it’s my fault, my fault that we never will... I meant to show you, but I didn’t know how... and now...” Castiel gasps a little as he launches himself into Dean, burying his face wetly into Dean’s neck. It only takes Dean a moment of processing in stunned silence to respond. He wraps his arms around Cas, shushing him quietly and kissing the side of his head.

“No... It’s not all on you, Cas, I should have said something a hundred times over. I could have been the brave one, just as easy. It’s my fault, too. You have to know, though... that I thought about it, that I wanted you…” Castiel nods into Dean’s chest, but Dean pulls him back to look into his eyes. “That I lo-” Dean swallows, holds up a finger. “Shit, you know this feelings crap isn’t easy for me. Apparently, even when the world is ending,” he says with a sad little laugh, and Castiel mirrors it with a small smile. Dean takes a deep breath. “That I loved you,” he says, and then adds, “That I do. Love you, I mean.”

Through the wall from the apartment next door, and perhaps the one across the hall, or maybe somewhere outside, TVs, radios, any devices still turned on start screaming for the entire United States to “ _Shelter in place… Nuclear impact is imminent…. Shelter in place…. Shelter in place… Shelter in place…”_

“Oh god,” Castiel whispers, squeezing both of Dean’s biceps in fear. “Oh god, I thought… I just thought we’d have more time…”

“Come on,” Dean says, tugging Cas up onto his own bed, urging him to lay down at his side and pulling the covers over their heads. “We don’t have to watch. We don’t have to see it,” he says, his voice a lot calmer than he feels as he pulls Castiel close to his chest and holds on. “Cas,” he whispers. “Will you kiss me?” Dean turns fully onto his side as Castiel slides up a few inches so that they’re face to face. Castiel leans in and presses his lips to Dean’s gently, unable to hold back a chest-rattling sob. “Shh,” Dean soothes him, his mouth still grazing Cas’ softly. “Just focus on me.” Castiel calms as Dean kisses him, swallows his whimpers, licks the salt of his tears from his lips. Their legs tangle and their hands grasp at each other desperately, trying to get as close as possible. Even behind their eyelids, under the blanket, and behind the curtained windows of Castiel’s room, the bright flash of light is visible. As the ground starts to rumble alongside an impossibly loud _boom_ followed by an increasing roar that rushes steadily towards them, Castiel and Dean finally can see only each other. And in that moment, all they have is time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like, I know this might be weird but I feel like when Cas & Dean die together, it's not so bad. It's so much more angsty and sad when one of them is left behind! Anyway the whole planet was getting wiped out, they didn't have a chance. I intended to actually have them do it and then for Sam to show up after, but my word count... holy yikes. 1k over the limit, my bad.


	26. DAY 26: MAGICAL GIRL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: MAGICAL GIRL  
> WARNINGS: EXPLICIT SEX  
> RATING: EXPLICIT
> 
> NOTES: This is going to be a FIVE part-er! This is my fave kind of creature fic, so if you know me, you can probably guess what's coming.
> 
> Summary: TFW goes on a hunt for a witch that's changing people into mythological creatures, and things go very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Reference:  
>  **Day 26: Part 1 - "Cursed or Not"**  
>  Day 27: Part 2 - "Changed"  
> Day 28: Part 3 - "Adaptation"  
> Day 29: Part 4 - "Alone"  
> Day 30: Part 5 - "Home"

THIS ENTRY HAS BEEN REPOSTED AS ITS OWN WORK

PLEASE FOLLOW THE LINK:

[CURSED OR NOT](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501691/chapters/38649782)


	27. DAY 27: CREATURE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: CREATURE  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: TEEN  
> NOTES: See below
> 
> Sam explains about Selkies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: Uhm... this thing got out of control. It was supposed to be a 3 part-er, but now it's going to be 5.  
> For reference:  
> Day 26: Part 1 - "Cursed or Not"  
>  **Day 27: Part 2 - "Changed"**  
>  Day 28: Part 3 - "Adaptation"  
> Day 29: Part 4 - "Alone"  
> Day 30: Part 5 - "Home" 
> 
> Also while Parts 2 & 5 will be Teen, the other 3 will likely all be Explicit. Just FYI.  
> THERE WILL BE NO SEAL SEX IN THIS FIC- just... no, lol. No seal/human, no seal/seal, NO SEAL SEX. So please don't worry that is going to be sprung on you, lol. 
> 
> It IS going to get SUPER SUPER angsty for a bit before resolving with a happy ending. So strap in!

“Changed”

REPOSTED AS ITS OWN FIC

[DIRECT LINK TO THIS CHAPTER](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501691/chapters/38649890)


	28. DAY 28: STAR WARS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: STAR WARS  
> WARNINGS: EXPLICIT SEX  
> RATING: EXPLICIT  
> NOTES: See below
> 
> Dean gives Castiel a present. Dean and Castiel misunderstand some Selkie Lore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference:  
> Day 26: Part 1 - "Cursed or Not"  
> Day 27: Part 2 - "Changed"  
>  **Day 28: Part 3 - "Adaptation"**  
>  Day 29: Part 4 - "Alone"  
> Day 30: Part 5 - "Home"

"Adaptation"

THIS FIC HAS MOVED: 

[Direct Link to THIS chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501691/chapters/38649959)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the bunker's pool... ;)
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 


	29. DAY 29: STAR TREK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: STAR TREK  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: TEEN
> 
> Castiel's thoughts as he's banished to the ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a lot of research into the river situation - and it turns out the Arkansas River flows by just south of Lebanon/the bunker. So Castiel running and diving into a smaller river that feeds that one is actually quite possible. The Arkansas River terminates at the Mississippi River, which feeds into the Gulf of Mexico by New Orleans, LA. There are no seals that live in the Gulf of Mexico, but these are mythical creatures so we'll give them a pass, lol. 
> 
> For Reference:  
> Day 26: Part 1 - "Cursed or Not"  
> Day 27: Part 2 - "Changed"  
> Day 28: Part 3 - "Adaptation"  
>  **Day 29: Part 4 - "Alone"**  
>  Day 30: Part 5 - "Home"

"Alone"

THIS FIC HAS MOVED TO ITS OWN POST

[Direct link to THIS chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501691/chapters/38650013)


	30. DAY 30: MASHUP (CREATURE/MAGICAL GIRL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: MASHUP (CREATURE/MAGICAL GIRL)  
> WARNINGS: EXPLICIT SEX  
> RATING: EXPLICIT
> 
> NOTES: Dean goes to extreme lengths to bring Castiel home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The resolution of my Selkie!Cas fic! This one really got away from me... it's over 5k but I just couldn't do it justice any shorter. 
> 
> For Reference:  
> Day 26: Part 1 - "Cursed or Not"  
> Day 27: Part 2 - "Changed"  
> Day 28: Part 3 - "Adaptation"  
> Day 29: Part 4 - "Alone"  
>  **Day 30: Part 5 - "Home"**
> 
> I usually link pics at the end, but you should totally look at this first so you can imagine it as you read. Because this thing is boss, and definitely the only way Rowena would travel the ocean.  
> [THE YACHT TFW + ROWENA TRAVEL ON](https://www.yachtforums.com/review/burger-101-to-kalon.10747/)

"Home"

THIS FIC HAS MOVED TO ITS OWN POST

[Direct Link to THIS Chapter HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501691/chapters/38650151)


	31. DAY 31: HALLOWEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: HALLOWEEN  
> WARNINGS: NONE  
> RATING: TEEN
> 
> SUMMARY: Rockstar Dean Winchester gets a night off from his concert tour series in New Orleans, which means he and his very private boyfriend Castiel are going out- because tonight is the one night of the year no one will recognize them.  
> (This is the third installment of my "ROCK YOU" verse!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT PROMPTOBER IS OVER!!! Thank you to everyone who has read along, especially those who left comments, they're my frickin' lifeblood and y'all are amazing. I hope you enjoyed this crazy ride - it was a tough one.

Please follow the link to this story!

["IN PLAIN SIGHT" - PART 3 of the "ROCK YOU" VERSE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16483535)

Here's a preview of what you have to look forward to:   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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